The Forensics of Falling
by Luna Darkside
Summary: When fans of world-famous magician and actor Kuroba Kaito begin turning up dead, Inspector Kudou Shinichi is put on the case. /ShinKai & Kaishin, murdermystery!au, complete - sequel available on AO3/
1. day one

_Hello hello! I know it's been a while since I posted, and that's because I've been busy writing this fic, which is over 46k words when complete, making it the longest thing I've ever written. :D_

 _I've decided to split it into chunks, firstly to buy myself time to do a little more editing to the latter parts and secondly because it's a murder mystery and it'll be fun to see your theories and ideas about the case as things progress._

 _This fic contains shounen-ai, grammar mistakes / possible plot holes because I'm not accustomed to writing anything longer than 12k words and/or things that have an actual plot as well as semi-graphic depictions of murder, violence, and corpses, though nothing worse than what you can find in canon. I'm planning to update weekly if my schedule allows._

 _Enjoy! - Luna_

* * *

 **day one.**

* * *

The train station was violent with activity, the air heavy and tainted by the inexorable panic that rush hour never failed to induce. Shinichi dodged a harried-looking woman clutching at a macchiato as if it were her lifeblood and swiped through the gates as efficiently as he could while carrying his briefcase and a croissant. Not efficiently enough, judging from the irritated huff from the salaryman behind him.

Yawning widely, Shinichi stumbled towards his platform. Maybe staying up late last night for that Detective Samonji rerun had been a mistake. He crammed the croissant into his mouth, walked a few steps, realized the croissant was smothering him, and yanked it back out, yet again to the disgust of the salaryman, who was apparently also headed for the Touto line, judging by the way he was following at Shinichi's heels and muttering snide remarks about professionalism to himself.

Shinichi sighed.

He was standing behind the yellow line, halfway through his croissant, when his phone trilled in his pocket. It took some maneuvering, but Shinichi managed to wedge his briefcase under one arm and work his phone out of his pocket. It was Megure, apparently. Shinichi wrestled with his croissant for a moment longer before he hit the answer button.

"Hello, Inspector?" he said. The salaryman was now glaring darkly at him.

"Young people and their phones these days," he muttered, giving Shinichi a dark and nearly murderous look. Shinichi squinted at him.

"You're, like, twenty-four."

"Whatever." The salaryman sniffed and turned away.

"Kudou-kun?" Megure was saying when Shinichi turned his attention back to his phone. "Kudou-kun, is this a bad time?"

"Well, I'm at the station, about to get on my train," Shinichi told him just as the train pulled into the station, slowing a stop with a metallic screech and a pneumatic sigh. Around him, people began pouring into the car as if it were the last train out of hell, employing vicious use of their elbows to do so. In the distance, there was the sound of breaking glass. Someone screamed. All in all, a normal Tokyo rush hour.

"You're on the way to work? Don't get on," Shinichi heard Megure say urgently beneath the assorted noises of mayhem. He cradled his phone closer to his head, tipping his head to press his free ear into his shoulder. A man in a season-defying trench coat hurtled past him in a last-ditch effort to fit on the train, knocking the remains of Shinichi's croissant out of his hand as he went. Shinichi stared down at where the croissant had landed with an unimpressive soggy sound and thought morosely that it had to be some kind of metaphor for his life.

"Okay, it might be nice to know why I just missed my train," he said, holding back a sigh. He glanced into the depths of the car as the doors creaked jarringly shut and the train lurched rheumatically into motion. From behind a wall of people, the salaryman was glowering at him, looking a little as if he wished he'd pushed Shinichi onto the train tracks when he'd had the chance. Well. Maybe Shinichi didn't mind taking another train.

"Oh, good," Megure replied, at which Shinichi felt his face do something conflicted. It smoothed, though, when Megure added, "You'll have to take a different line, anyway. I need you in Ekoda as soon as possible." Shinichi felt his eyebrows lift.

"Ekoda? Isn't that kind of out of the way?" he asked into the phone even as he turned and made his way towards the nearest map of the train lines. Ekoda was about five stops away if he took the Sakaimachi line. "What case am I being put on?" At that, Megure heaved a sigh.

"You remember the case Hakuba-kun is working?"

Hakuba was an assistant inspector from the same department as Shinichi. Shinichi had a pretty good opinion of him, because they'd first met at a Sherlock Holmes convention a few years back and Hakuba's cosplay had been spot-on. His father was the superintendent general of the police force, which meant Hakuba insisted on holding a rank lower than inspector to avoid accusations of nepotism. (They happened anyway.) He was a little weird sometimes, and he had a punchable face made even more punchable by the fact that his natural state of being was patronizing arrogance, but Shinichi liked him well enough anyway.

"Uh," began Shinichi, trying to remember. The last he'd heard from Hakuba, Hakuba had been in the throes of an arson-murder case, but that had been at least two weeks ago. "No, I can't say that I do."

"Oh," Megure said. "In that case, how much do you know about Kuroba Kaito?"

"Kuroba Kaito?" Shinichi tried to figure out where he'd heard the name before, starting towards the Sakaimachi platform at a hurried jog. As if summoned into existence by his thoughts, a brightly saturated movie poster caught his eye as he turned a corner. It advertised some kind of action-filled thriller—complete with contrived romantic subplot, it seemed, judging from the gun-wielding actress wrapped up in the leading actor's muscled arms. Kuroba Kaito's arms, to be more exact. Shinichi frowned and ran a little faster.

"Are we talking about Kuroba Kaito, the actor?" Shinichi didn't watch many movies, other than the rom-coms that Ran insisted were a necessary part of his pop culture education and the made-for-TV Detective Samonji specials that aired every Golden Week, but even he knew who Kuroba Kaito was. Besides having the kind of charm that inspired sonnets, Kuroba Kaito was an actor of the highest caliber who'd been nominated for (and presumably won) a few Academy Awards and Golden Globes in the last several years of his career. Shinichi wondered when he'd gotten caught up in a police investigation.

"Magician and actor," Megure corrected. There was the sound of shuffling papers in the background. "But yes, it's that Kuroba Kaito."

"I wasn't aware Hakuba was working on a case that involved him," Shinichi remarked as the Sakaimachi train announced itself with a crescendo of rumbling.

"Apparently they were high school classmates or something. I'm not sure. I think there was some drama with Hakuba-kun's wife and Kuroba-san." Megure sounded vaguely uncomfortable, which Shinichi assumed was because he didn't want to think too hard about his subordinate's love life. "But anyway, Hakuba-kun was assigned to the case because of his connection to Kuroba-san. Unfortunately, that seemed to be the wrong idea, because Hakuba-kun is now claiming that unless he's taken off the case, he's going to 'snap and eviscerate Kuroba-kun himself.'" Megure paused. "That's a direct quote."

"I see," Shinichi said after a moment, stepping onto the train. It was marginally less crowded—the Sakaimachi line must not have been as popular as the Touto. He hugged his briefcase closer to himself as a petite girl wearing headphones crowded him into the far set of doors. "In that case, I'm fine taking over for him."

"Great." Megure sighed, sounding relieved. He probably thought that having to arrest the superintendent general's son for murder would be bad form. "Call me back when you get to Ekoda. I'll tell you where to go."

* * *

The Nichiuri television station was an elegant, newly remodeled building, composed in glass, pale whites, and hints of chrome with a sleekly geometric design that was strangely satisfying to look at. Shinichi hurried up the front walk, flanked on either side by intensely rectangular hedges, before he reached the floor-to-ceiling glass front door.

The lobby was almost empty, the receptionist's desk lonely and abandoned, the circular armchairs uninhabited. Shinichi glanced around—Megure had assured him that someone would meet him in the lobby—before a woman dressed like a Michael Kors advert, leafing through a leather-bound book in a far corner, glanced up and caught his eye. Her expression turned slightly quizzical before she flipped the book shut, tucked it under one arm, and clacked over in her five-inch heels.

"Are you the new police officer?" she asked without pretense once she had come to a stop in front of him. Her eyes scanned Shinichi up and down in a clinically unimpressed way that made Shinichi suddenly insecure. He struggled with the urge to cross his arms over his chest and instead gave her a polite smile.

"Yes, I'm Inspector Kudou Shinichi of the homicide division," he announced and managed to extricate his badge from his pocket with as little fumbling as possible. The woman peered at his badge with wariness before she nodded, the tension around her eyes easing. Her skin was so clear it looked photoshopped.

"Motoyama Miho, Kuroba-san's manager," she introduced herself, offering him a perfunctory handshake before she turned on one stiletto heel with a grace that Shinichi would've thought impossible when wearing a skirt that form-fitting. "Kuroba-san is just getting ready to shoot a segment for Heartline—that's the drama's he's currently starring in; you've probably heard of it—but I believe we have just enough time to fit in some introductions before he's called on set." She was walking so briskly that Shinichi had to half-jog not to lose sight of her in the labyrinth of corridors, and she spared Shinichi barely half a glance as she whipped around a corner like a Ferrari drifting around the bend of a racetrack. "When Inspector Megure called earlier, he said that you hadn't yet been briefed. Inspector Hakuba left all relevant case files when he left yesterday—accidentally, I'm sure, but you can use them to catch up."

"Right," Shinichi agreed, trying not to sound overtly out of breath. Miho came to a sudden stop outside an unmarked door, and Shinichi nearly hurtled straight into her. He managed to pull back just as his nose brushed the bottom of her bun.

Miho didn't seem to notice. She cleared her throat and knocked on the doorjamb.

"Kuroba-san? I brought the inspector with me," she called before she opened the door and stepped inside. Shinichi edged in behind her, glancing around the room. It was spacious, with high ceilings and a fresh-paint gleam to the walls. Along one side of the room was a LED-lined counter paired with several chairs; along the other were racks of clothes, which appeared to have been sorted by someone Shinichi suspected was at least partly colorblind. Some invisible sound system was spilling out relaxing, uplifting music.

From within the racks, a voice came floating out, accompanied by rustling.

"I told you, Miho, another day with Hakuba and I will actually off myself before the killer does."

"Kuroba-san," Miho said, frowning, but it was then that Kuroba Kaito emerged from the racks.

Shinichi had seen him in movies and TV shows before (once, memorably, he had played the murderer in a Detective Samonji special), but that had always been with a camera and miles between them. Now, with nothing separating them but a scant few feet, Kuroba Kaito looked every part the movie star. His hair was a wild mass on top of his head, and he had on jeans that had seen better days (and, from the looks of them, better years as well) and he was rubbing at the back of his neck with one hand. His face was basically perfect. Shinichi goggled.

Kuroba Kaito had been wearing a scowl when he first came out—in preparation to see Hakuba, Shinichi assumed—but when his gaze landed on Shinichi, his mouth went slack as he stared, eyebrows creeping upwards. Shinichi, a touch hysterically, wondered if there was something on his face and nobody had bothered to tell him.

"Well," Kuroba Kaito said after a moment, swallowing. His eyes were wide. "You're certainly not Hakuba."

"And you're not wrong," Shinichi agreed, trying on a smile. Kuroba continued to look at him as if he'd never seen another human before. Trying not to seem too bewildered, Shinichi extended a hand. "Inspector Kudou Shinichi of the homicide division. I'm taking over for Officer Hakuba."

Kuroba blinked, then shook himself. He put on a grin that did something strange to Shinichi's chest before he reached out with a fist. Shinichi stared. He was about to comment that that wasn't quite the usual handshake etiquette when Kuroba did something too fast to track with his fingers and, suddenly, he was holding a lavender rose.

"For you, Inspector," said Kuroba, and gestured for Shinichi to take it. Torn between confusion and surprise, Shinichi reached out and took it. The stem was thornless, clipped smooth. The color was faint at the tips of the petals, but bled into a dark, rich purple near the stem. Shinichi had never seen anything like it.

"Thank you, Kuroba-san," he managed after he spent a minute examining the rose, glancing up at Kuroba. Kuroba, who was wearing a hopeful smile as he watched, beamed at him.

"Oh, you can call me Kaito," he grinned. "Really, it's fine."

Before Shinichi could so much as open his mouth, the door behind them flew open. A young woman with a great deal of pink hair piled up on her head and her own perfume-laden troposphere came running in, lugging a bag that emitted suspicious clinks and thumps as she dragged it behind her.

"Kai-chan, I'm sorry I'm late!" she called as she tripped past Shinichi, headed for the vanity. Kuroba—Kaito, Shinichi supposed, and felt a little weird that he was abruptly on first-name basis with someone he'd mostly seen plastered across billboards up until now—sighed and gave Shinichi an apologetic look.

"Sorry, that's my makeup artist. I have to be on set in a little while," he told Shinichi. He smiled again, though, bright and cheerful, before he sauntered over to the vanity where the pink-haired girl was now assembling a complicated collection of cosmetics on the counter.

"Well," Miho commented from behind Shinichi, startling him. He'd forgotten she was there. "It looks like Kuroba-san likes you." She smiled wryly.

"Huh?" Shinichi said, displaying the amazing intellect that had gotten him to the rank of inspector at the age of twenty-six. Miho nodded at the rose he was still clutching before she drew herself up.

"I'll go locate the case files for you. Until then, you can keep Kuroba-san and Watanabe-san company." She nodded at where Kaito was now being slathered with foundation, gave him a last vague smile, and exited the room at a military-perfect, ankle-breaking pace.

Shinichi stood there, lost, before he snapped the stem off the rose and tucked the bloom into his buttonhole. When he made his way over to Kaito, Kaito took one look at him and started to beam, despite that his makeup artist made an annoyed noise and told him to "close your damn mouth, Kai-chan, or everything's gonna crease."

"I take it you like the rose," Kaito remarked. He was fishing for compliments so blatantly that only a literal fishing rod would've made it any more obvious. Vaguely unnerved, Shinichi gave him a narrow-eyed look.

"I wouldn't be wearing it if I didn't," he pointed out. Kaito looked at him with admiration. Shinichi wondered what he had done to deserve it.

The makeup artist, who had been shooting Shinichi inquisitive looks as she painted foundation across Kaito's cheekbones, finally gave in to curiosity.

"Aren't you going to introduce me, Kai-chan?" she asked, pointed. Kaito rolled his eyes.

"I'm not sharing him with you, Himaricchi. You always try to steal the—" He cut himself off, glancing at Shinichi in a way that was likely intended to be furtive but came off as vaguely embarrassed. Shinichi watched, bemused. "You _know_."

"Ugh, Kai-chan, you're so mean! I'm not like that at all." The makeup artist pinched his nose with her half-inch nails, making Kaito squeak in pain, before she shook her head in disgust and turned to smile at Shinichi. Her eyelids were sparkly with some kind of fine glitter that blinded Shinichi if it caught the light at a bad angle. She stuck out one hand, smiling widely at him. "Sorry 'bout that. I'm Watanabe Himari."

"Inspector Kudou Shinichi." Shinichi shook her hand and released it as quickly as possible. She had on some kind of cream that made her palms slimy. "I'm taking over the investigation for Officer Hakuba."

"Thank God," Himari muttered as she set down her brush and picked up another. "That man was the worst." She cast a sly look at him, which made Kaito elbow her for some reason. "I'm sure you're _nothing_ like him."

Shinichi elected not to mention that they were friends with similar interests. It didn't seem like the time.

With a sigh, he set his briefcase down beside a small mountain of powder compacts and leaned against the counter. He cleared his throat.

"I hate to ask this, but what can you tell me about the case? I've only been briefly, uh, briefed." Kaito smirked, which was—distracting. Shinichi soldiered on. "I know it's something about a few of your fans turning up…?" _Turning up murdered_ was what he wanted to say, but by the way Kaito's face darkened the moment he spoke, he decided against it.

"Yeah." Kaito tilted his head back and closed his eyes so Himari could get at his eyelids with the brush she was holding. "There have been two so far. Sawada Yumi and Nishimura Mayuko. The only link between them is that they were both huge fans of mine. And the places they were found." He cleared his throat, cracking one eye open to look at Shinichi. "I remember seeing them at events and things, years back when I was just starting out. They were always so excited to be there." The line of his throat swelled as he swallowed. "I can't imagine why anyone would want them dead."

"Oh, Kai-chan, don't start crying. I didn't use waterproof mascara," Himari said with a wince as Kaito blinked rapidly and looked away. Shinichi, inspecting Kaito's eyelashes for purely professional reasons, didn't see why Kaito would even need mascara.

"I won't cry, Himaricchi," mumbled Kaito, though his eyes did look shiny before he composed himself. He tossed Shinichi a brittle smile. Shinichi was starting to see that there was a large range when it came to Kaito's expressions. "Sorry."

"You're fine," Shinichi murmured after a pause. Kaito angled a look at him as he sat up so Himari could get at his hair. Shinichi shrugged and lifted his eyebrows. "If you were completely unconcerned with the fact that people were dying because of you, I'd be more worried. So. Congratulations on proving that you're not a sociopath, I guess."

Kaito gave a strangled-sounding laugh.

"Inspector, you're too kind," he said, smiling faintly. Shinichi shrugged and ducked his head so Kaito wouldn't see that he was trying not to laugh.

"Oddly enough, I've never gotten that before. Mostly I get 'emotionally insensitive.'"

"You're that, too," Kaito acknowledged, shaking his head a little before Himari finished with his hair. Shinichi was mostly just glad that he wasn't on the brink of tears anymore.

"I think I can wait until Motoyama-san gets back with the files to hear more about the case," he decided, catching a raised eyebrow from Kaito. Shinichi grinned. "This is me trying to be emotionally sensitive. But also for the sake of your mascara, of course."

"Ah." Kaito nodded. His mouth curved into the kind of smirk that probably landed him in the upper halves of all the World's Sexiest Men lists. "Like I said. Too kind." Shinichi shifted, suddenly uncomfortable.

"You're all good," Himari announced, taking a step back to admire her handiwork. Kaito stretched. He looked mostly the same, although his hair now resembled intentional bedhead, now, more than the efforts of a bird particularly unskilled in nest-making. Shinichi eyed the half-empty bottle of gel on the counter. He was pretty sure that had been full when he'd first sat down.

"I've got to be on set in about ten minutes," said Kaito after a moment of checking the clock on the opposite wall. He crossed his legs and leaned forward. Shinichi caught the scent of warm citrus and wondered what cologne he wore. Something a little spicy. "Why don't you tell me about yourself, Inspector? Since we'll be seeing so much of each other now."

"Will we, now?" Shinichi arched an eyebrow at Kaito's angelic expression, which didn't so much as flicker, even under the considerable force of Shinichi's glare. "Like I said, I'm Inspector Kudou Shinichi of the Tokyo Metropolitan Police Force." Kaito looked expectant. Shinichi frowned. "I…like mysteries?" One of Kaito's eyebrows lifted. Shinichi tried again. "I'm a Detective Samonji fan?"

Kaito did something that would be considered a pout on anyone else.

"You're terrible at this, Inspector," he sighed, rubbing at the bridge of his nose (Himari squawked, "Concealer!" with an affronted glare from where she was cleaning up the cosmetics). "At least pretend that you watch my shows instead of Suzuhara's."

Shinichi blinked. If he wasn't mistaken, Kaito was referring to Suzuhara Akio, who played the latest iteration of Samonji, after Kenzaki Osamu left the show to pursue bigger and better roles. Personally, Shinichi found Suzuhara to be the inferior Samonji, but judging from how Kaito was glowering, he decided not to mention that.

"You know Suzuhara Akio?" he asked, trying not to smile at the way Kaito scowled even harder. "Could you introduce me? I'm such a huge fan, after all." The look on Kaito's face was a mix between horrified and pained until Shinichi snickered and it transformed into a full-blown sulk. Shinichi wondered if it was bad that he thought it was a little bit cute.

"I really thought you were serious," Kaito muttered, crossing his arms. "He's actually here, you know. At the station, I mean."

"Who?" For a surreal moment, Shinichi almost thought he was referring to Samonji before his brain caught up. "Oh, Suzuhara Akio?"

"Yeah. He plays my character's best friend in Heartline." Kaito smiled, suddenly looking pleased with himself and the world in general. "Which you would've known if you were actually a big fan of him."

"I can't fault your deductive reasoning there, Kaito-san," Shinichi admitted with a shrug. Kaito looked inordinately smug at the appellation, a fact that made Shinichi roll his eyes. "But anyway. You wanted to know more about me, other than my apparently traitorous TV preferences? What, then?"

"Your age, for one," Kaito suggested. He tilted his head against one shoulder, peering at Shinichi through his hair. "Your blood type. If you're single." His grin sharpened. "And if you are, what kind of person you like."

"I'm twenty-seven, and my blood type is A. I'm not currently in a relationship," Shinichi began hesitantly when Kaito beamed eagerly at him. In an attempt to stall for time—how was he supposed to answer a question like what his _type_ was?—he narrowed his eyes. "And what do you mean, what kind of person I like?"

Before Kaito could answer, there was a knock on the door. Miho appeared in the doorway, a heavy-looking bag slung over one shoulder and a tray of mismatched ceramic mugs held in front of her.

"I thought you might want something to drink," she said with a slight smile. Kaito grinned.

"Miho really is the best manager I've ever had," he remarked as Miho stopped to pass a mug to Himari, who smiled at her before wandering out of the room with the cup in hand. His smile turned faintly nostalgic, as if reminded of mildly traumatic memories. "I used to be managed by the agency owner, and he was the _worst_."

"He forgot Kuroba-san's name once," Miho sniffed, handing Kaito a mug painted with smiling cats, complete with a tiny ceramic cat balanced on the top handle. Shinichi blinked at the incongruous image of Kaito drinking from it before he looked up at Miho.

"How'd he manage that?"

"It was back when I went by KID. That was back in my early stage magician days before I really debuted as an actor," Kaito chimed in. He wiggled his eyebrows at Shinichi over the rim of his mug. "Honestly, the only good thing that guy ever did was hire Miho to oversee me."

"How sweet of you," said Miho dryly before she paused to set down the tray on the counter, the remaining cup perfectly steady as she did, and reached into her bag to pull out a two-inch thick stack of files. "Here are the case reports, Inspector Kudou." Turning and leaning against the counter, she gestured at the last mug, which was patterned with bold green chevrons that hurt Shinichi's eyes to look at. "Would you like something to drink?" Shinichi looked inside. It appeared to be full of steaming black tea.

"Oh, um, no, thank you." He reached for the files, flipping the top one open. "I'm more of a coffee person." Generally, tea didn't have enough caffeine in it to overcome Shinichi's tolerance.

"Really? We can swap, then," Kaito offered. "I have coffee here, and I'm good with either." He was giving Shinichi a hopeful look that was starting to become more and more familiar.

"I couldn't ask you to do that," Shinichi said, though it was kind of tempting. He glanced at Kaito's mug for apparently a little too long, because Kaito sat up straight and brandished his cup with force.

"No, really, it's no big deal," he insisted. He got to his feet and edged around Miho until he could pass Shinichi his mug, watching Shinichi like a dog waiting for approval. Shinichi felt a stirring of embarrassment beginning at the bottom of his spine even as he ducked his face into the steam rising off the coffee. If this was what Kuroba Kaito was like with annoying police inspectors he'd known for under an hour, he wondered what the man was like with people he actually cared about. Kaito didn't play squishy romance leads very often, but Shinichi got the feeling that it wasn't because he was lacking in romantic ability—

Shinichi was drawn from his thoughts by the sound of ceramic breaking and something splattering against his leg. He jumped, coffee sloshing, and looked down to see the green mug broken on the ground and tea spreading across the ground.

"I'm so sorry!" Miho gasped, looking uncharacteristically flustered as she pressed one manicured hand to her mouth. "I just—my hip brushed it, and—"

"It's fine. Don't worry about it, Miho. The mug was hideous, anyway," Kaito soothed her, crouching to start picking up the shards. The hems of his jeans were quickly soaking in tea, bleeding into dark brown, a fact that Miho and Shinichi seemed to realize at the same moment.

"Kaito-san, you might want to," Shinichi began, putting down the mug, just as Miho groaned, "Kuroba-san, go change your pants. You're supposed to be on set in a minute. The inspector and I will clean this up." Kaito set the pieces of the mug he'd already picked up on the counter, then sat back on his heels to look between Shinichi and Miho. Shinichi raised his eyebrows at him.

"If you don't even have enough faith in me to clean up some spilled tea, I think we'll have some issues collaborating on this investigation," he remarked. Kaito grinned.

"Oh, I wouldn't want to doubt your prowess."

"Then _don't_." Shinichi jabbed a finger at the racks and lifted his eyebrows. Kaito saluted him, smirking, before he skipped off, unbuttoning his jeans as he did. Shinichi looked away hastily.

"I apologize for this, Inspector," Miho sighed as she pulled a pressed handkerchief out of the inside pocket of her jacket and applied it to the puddle. Shinichi did the same, although his handkerchief was notably less pressed and also patterned with magnifying glasses and things, because his mother had a very warped sense of humor.

"It's no problem, really. Accidents happen," he assured her. In a minute the floor was mostly clean, at least as clean as before, and Shinichi folded his handkerchief up and moved to slide it back into his pocket. Miho looked visibly horrified.

"Please don't do that! You'll get your suit dirty." She looked as if she were witnessing a hit-and-run. Shinichi smiled as placatingly as he could.

"It's fine, it's fine. I carry around plastic bags in case I have to pick up evidence." Reaching over, he unlocked his briefcase and pulled out an evidence bag, into which he slid the dirty handkerchief. "See?" Miho bit her lip, looking conflicted.

"Still, I would feel bad if I didn't at least have your handkerchief cleaned myself." She motioned at the floor. "This was my fault, after all."

Shinichi suddenly had a vision of her washing his handkerchief and laughing at the magnifying glasses and little body outlines and footprints as she ironed it into a perfect square. He shook his head quickly.

"No, really, it's fine. Don't worry about it," he added when Miho looked as if she wanted to protest. Trying for a smile, he put his hands out in front of him. "I'm sure you're very busy with work and planning Kaito-san's schedule. I don't want to cause you any trouble."

"It's really no trouble at all—" Miho began, about to argue the point further, but at that moment Kaito came strutting out of the racks in a pair of trousers that were much more fitted than the last pair, and yes, strutting was the right word for the hip movements Kaito was doing. Shinichi averted his gaze immediately.

Miho was less impressed.

"Kuroba-san, you should've been on set a minute ago," she reminded him, crossing her arms over her chest. Kaito flapped a hand at her.

"Yeah, yeah, I know. I just wanted to say goodbye to the inspector." He winked. "Goodbye, inspector. I'll see you soon."

Shinichi stared after him, feeling not unlike the protagonist of a shoujo manga.

Miho clapped him on the shoulder, hard enough that Shinichi jumped. She was looking at him with pursed lips, her eyes searching his for something Shinichi wasn't sure she'd find.

"Kuroba-san _really_ likes you," she told him, solemn, before she clip-clopped out of the room after Kaito and left Shinichi clutching the back of his too-warm neck and trying not to smile dopily at the ground.

* * *

Four months ago, Sawada Yumi, twenty-nine, had been found on the baseball diamond of Ekoda High. Her throat had been slit with what seemed to be a small knife, though the weapon had yet to be found. She had been discovered by an early-arriving teacher, who had no discoverable connections to her. Her time of death was estimated to have been around six the previous evening, though from the amount of blood found at the scene, it had been determined that she had been transported from elsewhere during the night. She had been an office worker in a large corporation, entirely without enemies, debts, or secrets of any kind. Her hobbies had been crocheting and managing a Kuroba Kaito forum. Her family and friends described her as sweet and kind and wholly unhatable, usually through racking sobs and endless tears.

Two months ago, Nishimura Mayuko, thirty-two, had been found in a rose garden behind a certain home in Ekoda. The long, fatal cut in her neck had been made by the same weapon. The homeowner, an elderly woman who relied heavily on a cane and had little to no hearing left, had gone into the shed to find a watering can, intent on caring for the rose garden, only to find the victim. Once again, the victim appeared to have been killed the previous evening before being moved. She had worked as a hostess in a bar, and while she had had a few incidents with patrons overstepping, everyone who had a problem with her either had an alibi for her murder or Sawada Yumi's. Her hobbies had been running a Kuroba Kaito fanclub and wine-tasting. Her parents, grief-stricken and blaming each other, filed for divorce a month later.

Sawada Yumi had been found at Kuroba Kaito's old high school. Nishimura Mayuko had been found at Kuroba Kaito's old family home. Both had been avid Kuroba Kaito fans.

Shinichi would've suspected someone trying to frame Kaito, but Kaito had appeared on live television showings during both of suspected times of the murders. Once had been a prescheduled appearance on a talk show to promote the upcoming season of Heartline, and the other had been a last-minute surprise substitution on a well-known quiz show for an artist who had caught the stomach flu the previous day.

The motive, according to the neatly printed notes left in Hakuba's handwriting on the back of a printout, was still unclear. There were too many conflicting narratives. Shinichi had to agree. If it was the work of someone who hated Kaito, why would they have picked times during which he would have an alibi for the murders? And if it was someone who loved Kaito, then why would they target his fans, thereby sullying his name?

"Oh, are those the case files?"

Startling, Shinichi looked up to find Himari standing in front of him, holding a small bag and gesturing at the papers and photographs spread open in front of him. Shinichi winced, gathered them up quickly, and slid them back into the folders. He wasn't entirely sure how long he'd been engrossed in the files, but from the way his back ached when he straightened, it had been over an hour. Maybe even two. He sighed and sat back.

"Yes, and I probably shouldn't show them to a civilian who might be involved in the case." Shinichi raised his eyebrows. Himari grinned. Her lipstick, fuchsia with a bluish sheen, made her teeth look starkly white.

"You think I could be the murderer, Shin-chan?" She sounded far more enthusiastic about the idea than Shinichi had been inspecting expecting.

"Please don't call me that," Shinichi said, pained. Himari laughed and pulled out the stool beside him at the counter. Her eyes caught white light from the vanity mirror, glowing ice blue. It was undoubtedly the work of her color contacts, but it was still unearthly.

"Kai-chan lets me call him Kai-chan. He doesn't have a problem with it," she pointed out as she unzipped the bag she was holding and began pulling out nail paraphernalia.

"Sure, but I'm not Kaito-san." Shinichi goggled, watching her emerge with a glass nail file that tapered to a swordlike point and begin to file her nails with it as if she wasn't holding something that wouldn't be allowed on most airplanes. She appeared to be going for a blocky, squared-off shape (?). Shinichi didn't know much about nails.

"Can you tell me about the case?" he asked after a minute of watching her work. Himari glanced at him with one eyebrow raised, so he elaborated, "You understand the context better than I do, having worked with Kaito-san for so long. Did you ever meet either of the victims?"

"I think I probably did at some point," Himari said, looking contemplative. "Both of them were, like, diehard fans, with their own clubs and forums and stuff, so they always showed up to the fan meet-ups. Oh! I think I met the fanclub president one, once." Nishimura Mayuko, then. "She won one of those private 'an hour with your celebrity' deals, and they hung out here." She gestured at the room around them. "So I did meet her, I guess. Kai-chan introduced us."

"What did you think of her?"

"Uh…" Himari was suddenly very focused on her nails. Shinichi cleared his throat, and she sighed. "Well, she kinda…threw herself at Kai-chan? She grabbed him around the arms and, like, wouldn't let go. It was really awkward. Uh, Kai-chan handled it well, just so we're clear. He obviously didn't take advantage of her or anything—he's too much of a gentleman for that, you know that—so he just kind of… pushed her away." She shrugged. "Like I said. It was mostly just awkward."

"Yeah?" Shinichi rubbed at his chin. "What about Kaito-san? What do you think of him?"

"Kai-chan is amazing and everyone he's ever met has liked him, and I'm not just saying that because I'm his fangirl," Himari answered without hesitation. She paused to blow dust off her nails, inspected them for a moment, and went back to filing. "Or at least, no one who's met him hates him." Shinichi must've looked disbelieving, because she frowned at him. "No, really. Not even that other inspector—Hakuda or whatever?—really hates him." She got a sly look on her face. "Have you ever seen him on set? Kai-chan, I mean, not Hakuda?"

"I met Kaito-san for the first time today," Shinichi felt obligated to mention. "So that's a no." He decided it might not be a good idea to admit he hadn't intentionally watched any of Kaito's movies either.

"Well, now might be a good time to change that," Himari announced. Without any warning, she tossed the nail file at the table and grabbed Shinichi by the hand. Shinichi barely had time to shove the case folders into his briefcase and click the lock shut before Himari yanked him out of the room with strength disproportionate to her willowy frame. She dragged him down the hallway, veering sharply left and right to avoid a terrified-looking intern and a man carrying a stack of boxes.

"Is this really a good idea," said Shinichi after the fourth time they nearly crashed into a wall. Himari just laughed and pulled him all the harder.

"We have to hurry if we want to make it!" she yelled back at him. Shinichi resigned himself to his fate.

After what felt like half a marathon, they came to a stop in front of a pair of heavy double doors, designated as _RECORDING_ by the glowing sign over the doorway. Himari pressed a finger to her lips, a sign for him to stay quiet, before she carefully opened the door and motioned for him to slip inside.

Shinichi had never seen an episode of Heartline. All he really knew about it was that involved some kind of vague, stylized palmistry meant to suit the protagonist's love endeavors and that Kaito played that protagonist.

The set before him brought to mind a neatly-arranged living room in a suburb, with the suggestion of a white picket fence and well-watered lawn just out of sight. Kaito was sitting on a corner of a rectangular couch, staring at a framed painting hung a whisper crooked on the wall opposite him. The look on his face couldn't quite be described as dark—it wasn't quite tired, or emotional, or torn or heartbroken or dejected or any single adjective; it was all of them put together, layered together onto one face. Shinichi wasn't sure he'd ever seen anything like it. There was so much expression there, in Kaito's unseeing eyes and the tight slouch of his shoulders and the slow speed of his breathing.

There was a rustling in the silence that made Shinichi jerk before Himari placed a hand on his shoulder to still him. Suzuhara Akio entered the scene, his hair styled up around his temples and his body language imploring. He was an odd contrast to Kaito—Shinichi had never once thought he was a bad actor, but next to Kaito, he took on a strangely obvious quality, as if everything about him was labeled. This facial expression was supposed to mean pleading, that low sigh was resignation, the slow movement as he sat beside Kaito was comfort.

Shinichi wondered if he was the only one who saw it.

"Kenji," Suzuhara began in quiet tones. Kaito didn't move. Suzuhara sighed and laid a hand on Kaito's sagging shoulder. "Kenji, you know it's not your fault."

"I should've known," Kaito whispered, and his voice was nothing like it normally was. It was dark and low and sad, rough and guilty and exhausted. He sounded like a different person. "I should've known from the moment I met her. I should've known. But I was too… too _proud_ to admit that I couldn't take care of it. And now I'll never see Naomi again."

"You need to stop acting like you can protect everyone you meet. It's just not possible."

"No, I know I can't," Kaito responded with a broken laugh. His bottom lip shook with the slightest tremor. "I know. It's obvious. Nobody can save everyone. But I would've been fine just saving her." He glanced over at Suzuhara. "Don't act like you can understand, Komaeda. You don't know what I'm feeling. You'll never know."

"I don't have to understand to know that you shouldn't be beating yourself up like this," Suzuhara said, his face tightening. "Anyone could see that, you know—"

"You weren't _there_ ," Kaito retorted, and his voice was suddenly cracked, spiderwebbed with stress fractures. "You didn't—you didn't _see_. You didn't see _her_."

"Kenji," murmured Suzuhara. Kaito finally turned to look at him. His eyes were shining.

"It's my fault," he said, in a dark, hushed voice more suited for a confessional than a living room. "I did that. I did that to her, Komaeda." The tension hung in the air like a palpable object, tied to the rafters, spilling into the air they breathed. Shinichi swallowed.

"Cut! All right, that's it for today. Good work, everyone," called a loud voice from somewhere behind the cameras, breaking the moment. Kaito blinked, and suddenly he was himself again. Shinichi couldn't quite tell what it was that made him sure he was looking at Kuroba Kaito and not a character wearing Kuroba Kaito's face. Maybe it was in the way he rolled his eyes at Suzuhara? Maybe it was in the way the tightness dripped out of him with every movement? Maybe it was in the way he breathed. Shinichi couldn't decide.

Kaito glanced up, and his gaze immediately landed on Shinichi. Shinichi felt a tiny shiver spill down his spine, and he waved, awkward. Kaito's face lit up as though someone had plugged in a Christmas tree behind his eyes.

"Inspector!" he said, loudly enough that the staff, who were cleaning up the lights and set, all turned to give him bewildered looks before they all followed his gaze to peer over at Shinichi in curiosity. Shinichi felt a flush work its way up the back of his neck. He had the distinct feeling that beside him, Himari was smirking in sadistic glee.

A second later, Kaito bounded towards him, smiling. There was no trace left of the soul-shattered man he'd been just a moment ago. He was bouncing on the balls of his feet even as he came to a stop in front of Shinichi and Himari. For a weird moment, Shinichi felt certain that if Kaito had a tail, it would've been wagging.

"I didn't see you come in," he remarked. His hair was already starting to break free of its gelled style, congregating in rebellious curls at the base of his neck and around his ears. "What part were you watching from?"

"Oh, uh, just that last part," Shinichi replied. He glared at Himari, who he could tell was laughing at him from the morbidly fascinated look in her eyes. "Watanabe-san was the one who dragged me out here. And I mean that literally." He rubbed at his ulna, which felt alarmingly sore.

"Himaricchi lifts," Kaito said absently, raising an eyebrow at Himari. Shinichi wondered, briefly, if she lifted baby elephants, before Kaito turned his attention back to him. He had started to wipe his hands against the front of his jeans, his tongue darting out to swipe across his bottom lip. If Shinichi didn't know better, he would've thought that he was nervous, but that was an impossibility. Kaito cleared his throat once, then twice, and asked, in a low tone that brought to mind someone nervously entreating a loan shark with a request, "So? What did you think?"

Shinichi exchanged a disbelieving look with Himari. Himari, if her unimpressed stare was any indication, felt similarly.

"Fishing for compliments," she muttered, shaking her head. Shinichi nodded in agreement. The man had to know that he was an incredible actor. Nobody got to be that good without anyone telling them.

"I don't think your ego needs any more stroking," he informed Kaito primly. Kaito looked so hurt that he instantly felt bad.

"Maybe not his ego, but _something_ needs stroking. You're certainly looking thirsty, Kuroba-san," interjected an unfamiliar voice. Like compass needles swiveling towards north, Kaito, Shinichi, and Himari all turned to gape as Suzuhara Akio approached them, coming to a stop beside Shinichi. Up close and in person, it was understandable that he'd been picked to play a character as rough as Samonji, Shinichi couldn't help but think. He had a smile that was crooked by half an inch and the vaguely stubbled jawline of someone who enthusiastically enjoyed IPA and violent movies about hitmen.

Kaito scowled at him.

"Don't you have another scene to film, Suzuhara?" he asked, crossing his arms over his chest. Suzuhara smiled at him. It was not a smile Shinichi would describe as friendly, mostly because it resembled the sort of teeth-baring a shark did before biting into a school of fish.

"No, Kuroba-san, I'm done for today," Suzuhara told him. His eyes kept skipping back and forth between Shinichi and Kaito, as if he couldn't decide which of them was the more interesting target. "Aren't you going to introduce me to your… friend?" When Kaito made no move, choosing instead to glare at Suzuhara as if the man routinely tortured small woodland creatures, Shinichi coughed and offered Suzuhara one hand.

"I'm Inspector Kudou Shinichi with the Tokyo Metropolitan Police Force's homicide division," he said. "I'm here to oversee the investigation involving Kaito-san." Suzuhara's eyebrows lifted as he took Shinichi's hand. His palms were cool and dry, almost unnervingly so, as if his skin was made of paper.

"Oh? What happened to that Hakuda guy?" he wondered.

"Officer Haku _ba_ was reassigned," Shinichi answered, dropping Suzuhara's hand as quickly as he could without looking impolite. He cleared his throat and pasted on a smile. "You're Suzuhara Akio, right? I'm a big fan of the Detective Samonji series."

Kaito made a strange, huffing sound like an angry bull. Everyone turned to stare at him.

"Is that so," commented Suzuhara after a painful moment filled only by the sound of discomfort and Kaito looking annoyed at the world in general. He smiled at Shinichi, dark eyes tracking Shinichi's, and swept a loose strand of hair out of his face. Shinichi was forced at admit that he was at least lukewarm, if not actually hot. "I'd love to sign something later, if you're interested."

"I… uh, sure, that would be great," Shinichi agreed after a moment. He'd gotten all his Samonji merchandise signed by Kenzaki Osamu a while back, when he'd worked a case for Okino Yoko, and he had little to no desire to get Suzuhara's signature on any of it, but he decided it wasn't the best time to admit that.

"Of course." Suzuhara bowed his head, keeping his eyes locked on Shinichi's. "Anything for a fan. Especially one as lovely as—"

"Well, thanks for that. Great talking to you, Suzuhara," Kaito interrupted at a volume that made Shinichi wince and lift an eyebrow at him. He was frowning at Suzuhara with unconcealed disgust, and Suzuhara was smirking back at him. Shinichi glanced between them, confused, before Kaito put a hand on his elbow and hauled him away.

"I hate that guy," he muttered as they stumbled towards the double doors. Shinichi was starting to get tired of people pulling him places without his consent. He twisted around in Kaito's hold to wave goodbye at Suzuhara, more to get at Kaito than anything else. Suzuhara waved back, unaccountably amused. Himari, still standing beside him, was grinning as she turned and said something to him, which he laughed at. Kaito made a sound like a stabbed parrot and pulled Shinichi harder.

"I think you're taking this a little more personally than you should be," Shinichi felt the need to point out when they swung around a corner and nearly collided with a stressed-out PA who glared at them over the rim of her brightly-colored coffee mug and scuttled out of their way. With a burst of strength, he managed to extricate himself from Kaito's grip. Kaito heaved a sigh, sulking, and stopped storming down the hallway.

"Suzuhara is annoying and I don't like him," he announced.

"So I've gathered," Shinichi drawled. He tried to convey his skepticism with his face and took Kaito's reaction, which was to scowl deeply, as a sign of comprehension.

"He's clearly angling for you! Suzuhara never tries to be that slick with anyone. That asshole," Kaito huffed. He stared down at the floor as if it had done him a personal affront, or, more likely, as if he was imagining it was Suzuhara's face. Shinichi blinked at him, trying to figure out if he'd somehow been transported into an alternate dimension wherein celebrity magicians were under the impression that Shinichi was routinely mobbed by attractive actors.

"Oh, yeah, because _I'm_ the type who would attract an award-winning actor less than ten minutes after meeting him," he said, incredulous. Kaito's head snapped up.

"Of course you are. You're exactly that type. You could attract an award-winning actor less than ten _seconds_ after meeting him," he insisted, sounding scandalized, and gave Shinichi a disbelieving look, as if Shinichi was the one spewing nonsense. Shinichi rubbed at his eyes. This was shaping up to be one of the most surreal investigations he'd ever headed, and that was still counting the time he'd gone undercover as an exotic dancer.

"Okay, Kaito-san," he sighed, and pinched the bridge of his nose. The one cup of coffee he'd had felt like years ago. "If that's all, I'm going to get back to those case files. Maybe do some interviewing." He hadn't finished going through the reports, and he was contemplating giving Hakuba a call to see what he'd been thinking.

Kaito, in an unexpected twist, perked up.

"Why don't we go out for lunch, then?" he suggested, beaming. Shinichi eyed him with suspicion. He was starting to think that some part of Kaito's brain translated things into what he wanted to hear rather than what was being said.

"I just said—" he started, but Kaito dropped his hands on Shinichi's shoulders, which was sufficient enough distraction to render Shinichi speechless for a moment. Kaito was very close. His cologne made Shinichi's stomach forget where, exactly, it belonged.

"You could interview me. I'm at the center of the investigation, after all. I know everyone who's possibly involved." The hopeful gleam had been restored to Kaito's eyes. Deflating, Shinichi sighed and rubbed at his eyes. He really shouldn't be going somewhere alone with him, but Kaito wasn't _technically_ a suspect, and he was looking more and more convincing the longer they stood there—

"I know a place with good coffee," Kaito added, knowing, and looked inordinately smug when Shinichi straightened.

"This isn't a concession," Shinichi felt obliged to inform him as Kaito led him out of the station with a bounce and a half in his step. "You didn't, like, win anything."

"That's what you think," sing-songed Kaito in return, which was mildly ominous, but Shinichi let it slide. He liked Kaito better when he was being confusing and cheerful rather than whatever it was Suzuhara made him.

* * *

The place Kaito took him did, in fact, have good coffee, if "good" could be defined as "darker than a black hole and containing amounts of caffeine that flirted with the legal limit." Shinichi clutched his mug to his chest, only relinquishing it when their waitress wandered over with a new pot for refills. Kaito watched with a mixture of amusement and slight concern.

"So," Kaito began as the waitress set down their plates (yakisoba for Kaito; curry rice for Shinichi) and ambled off. The restaurant, a matchbox of a place with sunny yellow walls and tall, rectangular windows, was more occupied by sunlight than customers. "Did you want to talk about the investigation?"

Shinichi nodded, laying down his spoon, and thought for a second.

"Let's start with Motoyama-san," he decided. "What do you think of her?"

"Miho's been my manager for nearly four years now," Kaito answered, twirling his chopsticks in his yakisoba. "As a manager, she's efficient and good at time management. My schedule is always arranged to maximize productivity without burning me out. As a person, she's not really the sentimental type, but I like to think that she likes me, underneath all the Dior and judgment. I consider us friends, at least."

"Do you think she would have a motive for either of the murders?"

Kaito's face scrunched up.

"I think she would be more likely to kill me for missing a shoot than anyone else."

"Right." Shinichi dragged his spoon through the rice, carving a canal for the curry. "Then how about Watanabe-san?"

"Himaricchi? I've been working with her for about sixth months, I think. She's friendly. Outgoing. I think she's a fan of mine, but she's not weird about it, which I appreciate. Uh… if there's something about her that bothers me, it's that she's always late. Oh! And that her nails are always really pointy. She almost took out my eye once when she was trying to put concealer on me. She didn't even apologize." Kaito shook his head. "Rude."

"I'm sure you could pull off an eyepatch, anyway," Shinichi offered dryly, though he doubted Kaito really needed the consolation. Kaito grinned, appearing to take that as some kind of compliment, and leaned forward, balancing his face in one hand.

"Is that what you're into, Inspector? The pirate look?"

"Let's talk about Suzuhara," Shinichi said. Kaito deflated, as if someone had taken a pin to him. He squinted at Shinichi.

"I don't like Suzuhara."

"Thank you for the comprehensive report." Shinichi just looked at him when he pouted. "I'm not asking for a lot here, Kaito-san. Just tell me about the guy. What's your opinion of him, beyond not liking him?" Kaito blew out a breath and stabbed at a piece of lettuce.

"He's a good actor," he admitted, grudging. "I've worked with him on Heartline for a reasonably long time now. Maybe about two years? We got along okay until a little while ago, probably around five months ago, if I had to guess. Now he's an asshole who hates me for no particular reason."

"How much do you think he hates you?" Shinichi had to ask. Kaito angled his head at him for a moment before he looked down, suddenly preoccupied with his food.

"If you're asking if he hates me enough to kill two people," he began, then stopped. He hazarded a look at Shinichi through his hair, which had broken completely free of its gel prison at some point during lunch. "No. Suzuhara—he wouldn't do that. We have a rivalry, maybe, but it's nothing to _kill_ someone over it."

"Understood," Shinichi murmured after a minute. He shoved a bite of rice into his mouth to give himself time to think. "I—well, I hate to bring this up again, but…"

"You want to talk about the victims." Kaito suppressed a sigh. Shinichi watched him carefully as he swallowed and balanced his chopsticks across the width of his plate. "Sawada Yumi… I don't think I ever met her personally. I know she ran one of my bigger fan forums online. Like I said before, she came to all my live events and meet-ups, even back when I went by KID, so I did recognize her when I saw her. As far as I could tell, she was pretty normal." The _she didn't deserve what happened to her_ went unsaid, but Shinichi could see it in his eyes.

"And Nishimura Mayuko?" Shinichi tried to smile. "I heard you had an interesting encounter with her."

"There was that." Kaito rubbed his thumb over his bottom lip. "She was the president of one of my fanclubs. I'm not sure which. She won a meeting with me once. Uh, she was pretty aggressive with her… affections." He cast Shinichi an apprehensive glance. Shinichi wondered if he was worried of what Shinichi might think. "I didn't, ah, encourage her in any way."

"Watanabe-san said the same."

"Good." Kaito paused, a quarter of a smile curving his mouth. "I wouldn't want you to think I'm that kind of guy. But anyway. She did settle down when I told her I wasn't interested. Overall, she wasn't a bad person. Just outspoken and maybe used to getting what she wanted." He exhaled heavily, gaze focused on something just beyond the tabletop.

The air felt sticky with cheerlessness. Shinichi carved another trench in his rice.

"So tell me about Hakuba," he said. Kaito's head jerked upwards as if he'd stuck a fork into an electrical outlet. When he looked at Shinichi, he was wearing an expression of burgeoning horror.

"What?"

"I've known Hakuba for a few years. We're reasonably good friends." Shinichi shrugged, waving his spoon in an effort at casualness. Kaito looked massively nauseated.

"You're friends with _Hakuba_? Do you like Sherlock Holmes and being a condescending elitist?" he demanded.

"Yes to Sherlock Holmes, and I'm only a condescending elitist in my free time," Shinichi told him, innocently, and watched as he recoiled in horror.

"This whole thing was a mistake." Kaito scooted his chair back by several inches. "Sorry, Inspector, I don't think I can do this anymore. You're not the man I thought you were." Shinichi arched an eyebrow at him.

"Hey, now, no need for the break-up speech just yet," he said, which made Kaito inexplicably flustered to the point that he choked on nothing and knocked his chopsticks off his plate while fumbling around for his water glass. Shinichi tried not to smile too obviously. He swirled a bit of curry into his rice. "And anyway, why do you hate Hakuba so much? Yeah, he has a really annoying face, but so do I."

"No you don't, your face is perfect," Kaito sputtered, sounding grossly insulted on Shinichi's behalf, which didn't quite make sense, but Shinichi had come to the revelation that Kaito didn't make sense a lot of the time. Case in point: he seemed to be under the impression that between the two of them, _Shinichi_ was the one with the perfect face. "And Hakuba and I were classmates in high school. He stole my girlfriend."

"Really?" Shinichi found that hard to believe. Hakuba wasn't ugly—in fact, he was a particular favorite target to stalk among the traffic division back at the station—and he could set aside his natural condescension and turn on the charm when the occasion called for it, but even he fell short when compared to Kaito. Shinichi wondered if the girl had a thing for being talked down at and blonde hair, because those were the only areas where Hakuba notably surpassed Kaito.

"Yeah, and they're still together now. Expecting their first kid in a few months or so." Kaito sighed. "I can't believe that guy settled down and got married before I did. I really need to get a move on that." He looked at Shinichi expectantly. Shinichi forced down the urge to flush.

"You're, what, thirty-five? You still have time," he assured Kaito, mostly just to see him press a hand to his chest in indignation.

" _Excuse_ me, Inspector, I am not a day over twenty-seven."

"Unless today's your birthday, that's not true," Shinichi pointed out.

Kaito thought about it.

"Well, technically, I'm not _a_ day over twenty-seven; I'm a few months over twenty-seven. But that's not the point." He shook his head at Shinichi, picking up his chopsticks. "No social graces. I would've expected you at least know how old I am."

"It's because I only care about Suzuhara-san's birthday. I know _he's_ twenty-five," replied Shinichi. He only knew that because there had been a special announcement running underneath a Samonji episode on Suzuhara's birthday a few months back, but it was more fun to keep that to himself and watch Kaito splutter in abject dismay.

* * *

 **If you're enjoying this fic even the slightest bit, please consider dropping me a review! Thank you for reading, and I'll see you all soon! - Luna**


	2. day two

_I'm back with part two! Hope you all enjoy. - Luna_

* * *

 **day two.**

* * *

Shinichi was walking through the front doors of the studio the following day, yawning into his elbow, when his phone rang. He squinted down at the screen, holding the door for a vaguely familiar PA who treated him like a potted plant as she breezed past. It turned out to be Hakuba, likely returning the call Shinichi had left him the previous day.

"Hello?" Shinichi asked as he stepped inside the station. A cursory look around the lobby revealed that the receptionist had yet to make an appearance. He sighed and considered the five separate hallways branching out from the lobby.

Over the line, Hakuba cleared his throat.

"Kudou-kun. I see you're taking over the Kuroba case." There was a faint rustling before the sound of a woman's indistinct voice filtered into the background. Possibly the ex-girlfriend with questionable taste, Shinichi thought. "Have you looked through the case files?"

"The ones you left lying around the studio for random civilians to happen upon?" Hakuba huffed but didn't protest. Shinichi took that as an admission of guilt. "Yeah, I did look through them. I saw your notes, too."

"What are your thoughts?"

"Well, for now we're on the same page. I think I'm going to have a few officers stationed around places that might have been significant in Kaito-san's life." Shinichi started down what he hoped was the hall leading to Kaito's dressing room. "Other than that, both the motive and possible suspects are unclear. It's impossible to know how the killer feels about Kaito-san. Their actions and the circumstances don't point to any one obvious motive."

"It'll be hard to do anything if another body doesn't crop up," Hakuba agreed. For a moment, he didn't say anything, leaving the line to crackle with white noise, and Shinichi almost thought the call had been dropped, but then he added, "And I see you're suddenly on a first-name basis with Kuroba-kun. Interesting." His tone was knowing, as if Shinichi was an exponentially more primitive life form that he was dissecting in a petri dish.

Narrowing his eyes, Shinichi dodged a man in white face paint who was running full-tilt down the hallway, the badge around his neck flapping in the wind. He was becoming less and less sure he was going in the right direction.

"Kaito-san asked me to call him that," he told Hakuba primly as he turned and corner and came upon a completely unfamiliar string of doors. "I didn't ask if I could."

"I see." Hakuba had dropped all pretenses and now sounded amused. "Interestingly enough, I've known Kuroba-kun for over ten years, and he's never once asked me to call him by his first name." Shinichi wasn't sure what he was implying, but whatever it was, Shinichi didn't approve.

"Maybe it's because you hate each other," he replied, faux sweet. He was definitely lost now. Nothing looked familiar, from the names on the plates beside the doors to the color of the walls. With a sigh of resignation, he turned to head back to the lobby. "Maybe he isn't trying to make friends with you because of that."

"Wait—Inspector Kudou?"

Jumping, Shinichi turned to find Suzuhara standing in a now-open doorway, blinking and… not wearing a shirt, which made Shinichi abruptly and extremely uncomfortable. He was covered in a glossy sheen of sweat, which only served to accentuate the evidence that he most likely spent at least two hours a day working out, and he was smirking at Shinichi, looking far too entertained.

"Suzhara-san?" Shinichi stammered before he composed himself. "Good morning." Into the phone, he added, "I'll call you back, Hakuba," and hung up as Hakuba began to ask something that sounded a little too much like, "Already cheating on Kuroba, are we?" for his personal comfort.

"You didn't have to do that," Suzuhara laughed. Shinichi made a strong effort not to look below his collarbones. Apparently he wasn't very subtle about it, because Suzuhara grinned and ruffled his hair, which startled Shinichi into clamping his mouth shut. "I just finished filming a commercial for vitamin supplements."

"Oh." Shinichi wondered why someone needed to be half-naked to sell vitamins, but he decided not to press the issue. "They film commercials this early in the morning?"

"They wanted to get me before I'd eaten anything," Suzuhara explained. He moved as if to sling an arm over Shinichi's shoulders, then reconsidered, possibly realizing that he would undoubtedly wrinkle Shinichi's suit. Shinichi appreciated it, inching away from him as imperceptibly as possible. "You know, so the muscles would look better."

"Right," Shinichi answered, a beat too late. "Hey, if it's not too much to ask, could you walk me to Kaito-san's dressing room? I'm a little lost."

"Oh, sure," Suzuhara chirped. He looked as if he'd been waiting for Shinichi to ask. "Yeah, I get it. This this place is a literal maze. Took me days before I stopped getting lost on the way to the bathroom. Kuroba's place is across the station."

"Thanks," said Shinichi as Suzuhara wrapped one hand around his bicep—as if Shinichi needed to be leashed, Shinichi thought with a trace of sourness—and started to lead him down the hallway. Out of the corner of his eye, he studied Suzuhara's profile as they strode past another series of doors. "By the way, is it all right if I ask you a few questions? Just to get a feel for the situation, I mean."

Suzuhara's eyebrows lowered, but otherwise he didn't seem surprised.

"No problem. I've been expecting this since I first meet you, you know. I'm sure you're quite invested in getting this whole thing sorted out." He flashed the practiced smile of an oft-interviewed A-list actor at Shinichi. "So what would you like to know? I'll answer anything I can."

Shinichi smiled back.

"What do you think of Kaito-san? I hear you two are considered rivals," he asked, eyes on Suzhara. For a moment, Suzuhara's face froze, but he recovered without missing a step.

"He's not a bad person, but I can't say that I particularly like him," he answered. His expression went the slightest bit sardonic, the shift so minute that Shinichi might not have noticed if he hadn't been watching him. "Kuroba-san is an amazing actor. I don't doubt you've noticed yourself. There's something very magnetic about him. He inspires loyalty and affection from all corners." Suzuhara paused, regarding Shinichi with some apprehension as they entered the lobby and started for the opposing corridor. "I don't mean to sound bitter, or like I despise Kuroba-san. It's just that in this industry, jealousy and rivalries breed so easily." He shrugged. "Maybe that's where you got the impression that we hate each other. Just natural friction between actors occupying the same circles and roles."

"Makes sense," Shinichi agreed, noncommittal. The hallways were beginning to look marginally more familiar now, which was a relief. A few interns walking past goggled at Suzuhara. One of them walked into a wall. The other two gave Shinichi an envious look that he didn't know how to respond to. "What about the victims, Nishimura Mayuko and Sawada Yumi? Did you ever meet them?"

"I don't think I did." Suzuhara shrugged. "They were both fans of his, right? Fans of Kuroba-san, I mean."

"Right," Shinichi confirmed. "Kaito-san apparently met them both a few times at fan meetups and other events like that." He angled a glance at him. "But I assume you never went to those, right?"

"I don't really spend time with Kuroba-san outside of filming," said Suzuhara breezily. They had arrived at Kaito's dressing room door, which Suzuhara gestured at before he pushed it open and ushered Shinichi in, very unnecessarily.

The room was much the same as the previous day, though Shinichi thought the clothing on the racks might have been altered. Kaito was sitting at the vanity, scrolling through his phone with a furrowed brow while an unfamiliar, heavyset man in an ill-fitting navy suit talked at the side of his face, and Himari was sorting through a waist-high trunk full of makeup. Her hair color was bright blue today, which made Shinichi do a double take.

"Good morning," Suzuhara called, cheerful, and shut the door behind him. "I brought Shinichi-kun with me." Shinichi recoiled, about to demand when he had given Suzuhara the right to call him that, but he was distracted by the way Kaito jerked his head up, so quickly that Shinichi was mildly concerned for the integrity of his spine. He looked as if he were on the verge of an aneurysm, especially with the way he flinched back when confronted with Suzuhara's glistening musculature.

"Wow, I hate you. Like, a lot," Kaito announced pleasantly, as though that was a perfectly normal and socially acceptable way to greet someone. Suzuhara smirked. Shinichi made a strangled sound. The suited man coughed into one hand. Himari turned away from her makeup to ogle Suzuhara blatantly. Someone in the hallway outside sneezed as they walked by. It was, quite easily, one of the most awkward moments of Shinichi's existence.

"Suzuhara-san was kind enough to show me back to your room when I got lost," Shinichi announced over the sound of Kaito trying to laser Suzuhara's face off with the force of his stare. "Kaito-san, do you have a minute?"

"Yeah," Kaito said without looking away from Suzuhara. Shinichi cleared his throat, and Kaito finally looked over at him. "Yeah, I have a minute. For you, Inspector, I have at least thirty."

"Actually," the man beside him began, but Kaito shot him a look that Shinichi couldn't decipher, and he subsided, disgruntled.

"Generous of you." Shinichi twisted to look at Suzuhara, who was now posing against the doorjamb with a severe lack of subtlety. Everyone except Himari was averting their eyes. "Suzuhara-san, thank you for showing me to Kaito-san's room. You don't have to stay any longer." Honestly, he was becoming more and more concerned about Suzuhara's safety. Kaito was gripping his phone as if he were calculating the exact amount of force it would take to land Suzuhara in an ICU for a significant period of time.

Suzuhara laughed, oblivious.

"Oh, Shinichi-kun"—nobody missed how Kaito twitched—"I came all this way! I might as well catch up with Himari-san. It's been a while, after all." He cast a blinding smile at the aforementioned Himari-san, who giggled and wiped a bit of drool from the corner of her mouth with one manicured fingernail. Shinichi fought not to roll his eyes.

"Kaito-san," he began as he crossed the room, to where Kaito was waiting with a wrinkle of disapproval between his eyebrows, "do you—"

Kaito interrupted him by sticking one fist out. Shinichi blinked, mouth still partway open, before Kaito twisted his wrist, thumb swiping against his bent knuckles, and presented him with a bright orange rose, burnt red at the tips, soft coral at the base. Like the one from the day before, the stem was clipped smooth. Shinichi stared at it for a long moment before he heaved a sigh and took it.

"If you do that every day, I'll figure out how you do it and I won't be impressed anymore," he felt compelled to say in an attempt to protect his dignity as he rubbed a fingertip against the silk-soft petals, admiring, and snapped the stem. He slid the rose into his buttonhole again. It matched the slate gray of his suit.

"But that means you're still impressed by me now," Kaito deduced, more smug than Hakuba the one time that time he'd beaten Shinichi's score on a four-hundred-question Sherlock Holmes quiz. Shinichi narrowed his eyes at him.

"Don't get used to it."

"Oh, Inspector, I would _never_." Kaito batted his eyelashes. Shinichi shook his head at him.

"Are you always this much of a playboy? I would've thought some tabloid would've picked up on those tendencies and made a fortune selling headlines."

Kaito was about to respond when the man, whom both of them had managed to forget, made a loud noise. He had his arms crossed over the considerable expanse of his chest and looked resentful, glowering at both of them. Upon closer inspection, he had the kind of entirely forgettable face that many men over fifty were in possession of, and he smelled like a strange combination of high-end cologne and toothpaste.

"I don't have time to stand around watching idiots flirt," he muttered before he jabbed a thick, cylindrical finger at Kaito. "Think about that contract extension, all right? Don't dedicate all your brain cells to fantasizing about Pretty Boy here." He cast a suspicious glance at Shinichi. "Who're you, anyway? Are we just letting unauthorized assholes into the station now?"

"I'm Inspector Kudou Shinichi with the Tokyo Metropolitan Police Department's homicide division, heading the investigation into the murders of several of Kaito-san's fans. I'm sure you're aware of them." Shinichi raised his eyebrows. The man did a satisfying double-take before he scanned Shinichi up and down.

"Well, I hope you're better than the last idiot," he mumbled. "Tachibana Daisuke. I own the Tachibana Talent Agency. Kuroba here is signed with us."

"Oh," Shinichi said. Catching Kaito's eye over Tachibana's shoulder, he tried to ask _Is this the guy who forgot your name when he was managing you?_ with his face. Judging from the response he got, which was Kaito nodding and making a face like a dying goldfish, the answer was yes. "What's your opinion on the murders? From your perspective, I mean."

"They're generating shit publicity," responded Tachibana, blunt. He shrugged, his whole suit moving with the motion. "What're we gonna do if people get scared of being his fans because they think they're gonna get killed?" He squinted at Shinichi. "You police better fix this up before it gets worse." The look creasing his face suggested he thought Shinichi had a better chance of sprouting wings than solving the case.

"Interesting." Shinichi smiled as disarmingly as he could. "I always heard that any press is good press. Isn't it also possible that this focus on Kaito-san, despite its rather negative roots, could draw in more interest regarding his work, which would in turn increase the revenue generated by shows he features in and therefore benefit your agency? Are you sure these murders aren't helping your business?" When Tachibana did nothing but scowl deeply, he held up his hands in surrender, smile going faint. "I mean, I wouldn't know. I'm just a random pretty boy."

"That's exactly what you are," Tachibana mumbled before he stepped around Shinichi and stalked for the door. "Kuroba, lemme know when you decide."

"Of course, of course," agreed Kaito, sweetly enough that Shinichi doubted he'd contact Tachibana anytime soon.

"I'll be in contact, Tachibana-san," Shinichi called after him. "Just to clear up a few things about motives and alibis, of course." From across the room, Tachibana grunted and slammed out the door without another word.

Shinichi turned back to Kaito to find that Kaito was gawking at him as if he'd never seen Shinichi before. He was hit by a wave of self-consciousness.

"What?" he asked, edging away. Kaito shook himself visibly before he gave Shinichi a brilliant smile.

"Has anyone ever told you that you're terrifying?"

"No," Shinichi replied, dragging the syllable out. "Do you think I'm terrifying?"

"Slightly." Kaito nodded, leaning on one elbow as he beamed up at Shinichi. He didn't seem particularly terrified, in Shinichi's opinion. "Remind me never to call you pretty."

"I wouldn't mind it coming from you," said Shinichi before he realized how it sounded. Kaito's eyebrows jerked up his forehead as if hiked up by strings. Shinichi flushed. "I just didn't like how Tachibana-san was using it as an insult." When Kaito continued to smirk at him, he smacked him on the back of the head—not hard, of course, but enough that Kaito squeaked in surprise. "Stop looking at me like that."

"Terrifying," Kaito remarked as he straightened, one hand braced against his neck, but he was still smiling, so Shinichi decided to ignore him.

" _Anyway_ ," he started, composing himself, "I came over here to ask you about any possible other locations where someone might try to dispose of another—of someone else, so I could station officers there." Kaito's face drew into a mask of anxiety, taut around the mouth and eyes.

"Other than my childhood home and my high school, I guess there are my elementary and middle schools and the park where I used to do informal magic shows. That's Ekoda Elementary, Ekoda Intermediate, and Ekoda Park. And then there's my current apartment, I guess." A gleam of amusement reentered his eyes. "Why don't you guard that for me, Inspector? You could come home with me."

"I sort of doubt that the culprit would try to put a body in your living room," Shinichi pointed out doubtfully. Kaito grinned.

"You never know. Wouldn't you regret it if they tried, and you didn't catch them because you didn't believe me?"

"I don't think so." Shinichi eyed Kaito as Kaito sighed and dropped his face on the counter. "You're ridiculous. How has no one else caught on to the fact that you're a complete womanizer?"

"Maybe it's because I haven't dated anyone in three years," Kaito mumbled into the counter. "Contrary to what people on the internet seem to think, I'm not dating Okino Yoko, Himaricchi, Miho, or, God _forbid_ , Suzuhara."

"I really think you're too hard on him," Shinichi commented. He was not prepared for the manic glint that entered Kaito's eyes.

"Did you _say_ he could call you by your first name, or did he just take liberties because he's a jerk?" he demanded. Shinichi hesitated, and that was apparently enough to cement Kaito's belief in Suzuhara's irredeemable assholery, because he huffed and sat back in his chair, as if his point had been proven. "That guy is only _slightly_ less horrible than Hakuba, and that's saying something."

They both turned to look over at Suzuhara, who was still shirtless and doing a remarkable impression of the subject of a Calvin Klein advert. He was acting something out with his hands, miming a complicated serious of actions while wearing an earnest expression, and Himari was watching with a smile equal parts amused and quizzical.

"He doesn't seem that bad," Shinichi ventured, tentative. Kaito just shook his head.

"He's like one of those really colorful spiders," he said. "Pretty from afar, but poisonous once you get within stinging distance."

"Poetic," said Shinichi. Kaito grinned.

"Why, thank you, Inspector."

The door to the dressing room opened, then, and Miho stuck her head in, surveying the room, before she stormed inside, frowning. Shinichi would never understand how she managed to walk in shoes that looked like some kind of medieval ankle-breaking device, but she did it, even with the additional challenge of a skintight skirt.

"Kuroba-san, you were supposed to be on set at eight-thirty sharp." Miho's perfectly lined eyes narrowed. "That was five minutes ago."

"Blame Himaricchi!" Kaito insisted, spinning around in his chair so he wasn't facing her. "She's the one who slacked off to canoodle with Suzuhara!"

"I've never heard anyone say 'canoodle' in real life," Shinichi muttered under his breath and rolled his eyes at Kaito's reflection in the vanity mirror. Kaito winked at him.

"Watanabe-san." There was about half a millimeter of room left for argument in Miho's tone.

Himari quickly disengaged from Suzuhara and skidded across the room to Kaito, snatching up a brush as she went. Suzuhara stared after her with an eyebrow lifted before he ran a hand through his hair and trudged towards the door. Shinichi waved, awkwardly, and was offered a brief smile before Suzuhara disappeared.

"Zero canoodling is happening, I'm a professional working adult, nothing to see here," Himari babbled, swiping the brush across Kaito's cheeks. Miho looked sufficiently appeased when she actually got out a bottle of foundation and started applying it to his face, relaxing into a stance not dissimilar to parade rest. She met Shinichi's eyes, her gaze flickering to the rose in his buttonhole, and gave a brief nod.

"Good to see you again, Inspector. I trust that the investigation is going well."

"Yes, of course." Shinichi nodded hastily. "If possible, I'd like to have a word with you as soon as possible, Motoyama-san. For the investigation's sake, I mean."

"I'm sure that can be arranged." Miho reached into her shoulder bag to pull out a slim notebook. She flipped it open, eyes darting back and forth for a moment, before she told him, "Kuroba-san has a shoot from now until one o'clock and another from one-fifteen to five, both of which I will be overseeing, but after that I should be free to speak with you."

"Understood," said Shinichi, bowing his head. "Thank you, Motoyama-san."

Miho smiled faintly before she redirected her attention to Kaito and Himari, who was patting Kaito's eyebrows into place before she went at them with a pencil.

"Not too strong on the makeup," Miho called after a moment of observation. "They want a natural look for this advert." After Himari gave a sound of agreement and continued drawing, Miho gave Shinichi a last nod before she turned, a crisp one hundred and eighty degrees, and exited the room. Shinichi stared after her, even after the door swung shut.

* * *

Shinichi got back to the television station around five-fifteen, rubbing at his eyes with one hand and dodging a man carting a tripod out with singleminded focus. Crime scenes always took something out of him, despite how many he'd seen.

The crime scene at the high school hadn't been well preserved, likely due to the sheer number of curious, rule-flouting teenagers milling around and the upcoming baseball season. Shinichi had stood there and looked down at the remnants of the scene—a few darker spots of blood and kicked-up dust, the sound of bright voices in the background, and the sun beating incessant and relentless—before he had run a hand down his face, breathed for a long moment, and gone to find the first discoverer, a cooking teacher who had been attentive but largely unhelpful.

The woman living at the house had been concerned and solicitous when he showed up. She had offered him ginger tea and homemade cookies—which he had declined—before ushering him to the shed. The chalk outline delineating where Nishimura Mayuko's body had lain had faded to a faint ashy gray. The lock on the door to the shed hadn't yet been replaced, broken and twisted from being forced by a rough hand. Shinichi had looked around, but the only items of note had been a pair of rusty pliers and a half-empty bag of fertilizer. He had thanked the woman (four times, at increasing volumes until she understood) and quietly returned to the studio. Overall, he hadn't learned anything new.

As always, the receptionist area was empty, though there was a lipstick-printed coffee cup that suggested someone had been there up until recently. Shinichi made his way towards Kaito's dressing room. He probably shouldn't have felt as proud as he did when he made it without incident.

He knocked on the door before he stuck his head in. A quick survey of the room revealed no one.

"Kaito-san?" Shinichi called. For a second, there was nothing but stillness. Then the top of Kaito's fuzzy head stuck up from the depths of the racks.

"Inspector!" Kaito came trotting out, grinning as he sauntered into sight with a lot more hip-swaying than necessary. Shinichi felt his eye twitch violently upon the realization that Kaito wasn't wearing a shirt, just a pair of low-rise jeans that clung to his hips like a child with separation anxiety. There was a flush bleeding down the planes of his abdomen, feathering out just above the sharp twin cuts of his Apollo's belt. His hairline sparkled with pinprick beads of sweat.

Shinichi only realized he was goggling when Kaito coughed delicately, though when Shinichi's gaze snapped guiltily back to his face, he didn't look offended. Rather, he looked immensely pleased with himself. He leaned against a rack of jackets in various colors and lifted one hand to either push his hair away from his face or display the bulk of his biceps, which made Shinichi scowl and shut the door behind him.

"Please tell me you're not doing this because of what happened with Suzuhara earlier." Kaito was silent. His shit-eating grin didn't change. Shinichi sighed and pressed his fingers to his temples, wondering, not for the first time, how he had gone from knowing who Kuroba Kaito was in the broadest sense to being personally showboated at by the man himself.

"I'm not going to tell you that your abs are more defined than Suzuhara's or that your collarbones are nicer," he informed Kaito primly, even as his traitorous eyes strayed down towards aforementioned collarbones, which were, in Shinichi's opinion, much better than Suzuhara's. Kaito definitely noticed, because he smirked and didn't even pretend that he believed Shinichi.

"Like what you see, Inspector?"

Shinichi fixed him with a glare, determined not to even think about Kaito's angular hipbones or his impressive stomach or the elegant curves of his biceps or the challenging, charming tilt of his mouth—well. He may have failed that goal, but nobody had to know.

"Put on a shirt, Kaito-san."

"As you wish. You're no fun at all." Kaito sighed and reached for the nearest shirt, which happened to be a checked button-down dangling beside a gray t-shirt. "Just so you know, I didn't just oil up and lie here waiting for you, Inspector." Shinichi tried to stuff the thoughts that immediately arose at that comment back into the dark corner of his brain they had spilled free of. "I had a shoot. Some ad thing."

"What was yours for? Suzuhara's was vitamins, improbably enough," said Shinichi, drier than sand. Kaito flashed him a grin as he buttoned up the shirt. A small, tiny, insignificant part of Shinichi was disappointed to see his abs disappear behind the cotton.

"Gym membership. See, at least mine makes more sense." Kaito finished buttoning up the shirt and reached for a jacket. "They had me on a treadmill for nearly an hour. I'm exhausted."

"Only an hour?" Shinichi asked innocently. Kaito shot him a dark, unimpressed look as he fitted his arms into the hoodie, and Shinichi grinned before he glanced around the room. Other than Kaito and him, it was empty and quiet, the faint hum of the air conditioning the only other sound. "Hey, I was supposed to talk to Motoyama-san about the investigation. Do you know where she is?"

"If it's Miho, Tachibana-san called her to discuss my contract. She had to leave really suddenly." Kaito made a face. "It probably doesn't surprise you, but Miho and I are hoping to split away from the agency, but if Tachibana-san's somehow figured it out, he'll definitely either try to persuade her to stay or threaten her." He winced. "Probably both. Tachibana-san isn't the nicest of people."

"Hm." Shinichi ran a hand over the back of his neck. Maybe he could catch her tomorrow. Kaito caught the look on his face and put his hands on his hips, adopting an offended expression.

"Don't tell me you only came back to see Miho." A hint of a pout made itself known. Shinichi rolled his eyes at him.

"Who else could I possibly be here to see?" he asked, and Kaito squawked and clutched at his chest.

"You're such a cold man, Inspector. I can't believe you would play with my feelings like this."

Shinichi snorted.

"Right, your feelings for me." He shook his head as he turned towards the door. "Well, if Motoyama-san's not here, I guess I'll just head home. I can't see how I could progress the investigation right now." He glanced over his shoulder at Kaito. "By the way, I stationed some officers around your old schools and the park. They should be pretty well covered if someone suspicious tries to make a move on them."

"But there's still my apartment, isn't there?" Kaito grinned when Shinichi grimaced. He sidled up beside Shinichi, so smoothly that Shinichi almost didn't realize how close he was until Kaito pressed one forearm to the wall beside Shinichi's head, nearly caging Shinichi in. Shinichi could count the watercolor-faint freckles smattered across his nose. "Look. Why don't you come home with me?"

"Uh." Shinichi wasn't sure what his face was doing, most of his cerebral cortex stalling, but he was sure it wasn't flattering either of them. Kaito's smile faltered the longer he looked at Shinichi.

"Sorry, I took it too far. Sorry. I don't mean it—however you're thinking," he said, taking half a step back and dropping his arm. He shoved his hands into his pockets. "I just meant that we could hang out together. We could—we could talk about the case, if you want. It doesn't have to be anything, uh. That you don't… want it to be." He laughed self-deprecatingly, raking his hair out of his face. "Wow. I'm—I'm really bad at this. Sorry."

"Don't apologize," Shinichi groaned, squeezing his eyes shut. That was the only thing that could make the situation worse.

"Sorry," Kaito immediately replied, and then winced so hard he got a cramp in his neck and had to spend a second massaging it out and avoiding eye contact. Shinichi eyed him and his reddening cheeks with some confusion. He had to wonder how someone like Kaito could have his confidence shaken that easily. Was Shinichi that intimidating?

"Fine, fine. I'll put you out of your misery." Shinichi clapped Kaito on the shoulder and twisted to get at the doorknob. Kaito made a bemused noise when Shinichi pushed out of the room and hurried after him, shoes squeaking against the tile.

"What—what does that mean?" he asked. Shinichi peered at him over his shoulder and smirked.

"It means _take me home_ , Mr. Famous Actor," he said, and Kaito tripped over nothing in his haste to get the door for Shinichi.

* * *

Kaito's apartment, from the outside, was nothing spectacular. The building, checkered with spotted windows and balconies populated by wilting houseplants, was tall and looked hazily gray, either due to the shade of paint chosen or the subtle effects of air pollution, in the dimming sunlight. An older woman checking her mail at the bank of boxes beside the entrance waved at Kaito as they entered the building.

On the inside, Kaito's apartment was somehow both what Shinichi had been expecting and not. It wasn't spacious, but Kaito had arranged the rooms to give the impression that it was, furniture positioned near the perimeters and the ceiling painted a cool light blue. The walls were decorated by prints of things with seemingly no relation—a lunarscape, a close-up of a four-leaf clover, a wide shot of a skyline at night—but they seemed to match regardless. From the genkan, Shinichi could catch just a glimpse of Kaito's bedroom, which seemed to be done in muted blues and greens.

"Well, this is it." Kaito pulled off his shoes, reaching around in the shoe closet until he unearthed a pair of slippers for each of them. The ones he passed to Shinichi had little hedgehogs on them. Shinichi decided not to ask.

"Nice place," he said instead. He shucked his suit jacket and folded it over one arm, careful to not crush the rose still nestled in his buttonhole. Kaito hummed and flicked on the overhead lights, heading towards the kitchen.

"I try. My best friend helped me with the decorating, though." He pulled the refrigerator door open and stared into it for a second before he pulled out a bottle of ketchup with a thoughtful frown. "Are you okay with omurice? I don't have ingredients for anything else." Kaito turned to look at Shinichi just as Shinichi finished loosening his tie and ran a hand through his hair.

Kaito dropped the ketchup with a thunk. Shinichi jumped at the sound. He shot Kaito a suspicious look.

"Omurice is fine," he offered after a moment, and flicked the top few buttons of his shirt open to free his throat. "Do you need any help?" He started rolling his sleeves up. Kaito blinked at him once, twice, thrice, owl-like, before he shook his head and cleared his throat, fumbling for the ketchup bottle.

"Uh… no, no, that's fine. You can just make yourself at home." He dropped the bottle two more times on the way to the counter. Shinichi observed with some bewilderment, slinging his jacket over the back of the couch. Even with a technically unrepresentative sample size of two, he was starting to think that all famous actors were a few standard deviations from the norm, at least in certain areas.

A walk around the living room revealed a large, long planter box full of roses in various states of growth sitting on the veranda. There was a full rainbow of colors, from a pale pearl to an orange-soaked coral to a deep burgundy like a spill of wine. Shinichi marveled at the sheer selection, squinting at them through the glass sliding door.

"There are so many colors. Do they take a lot of water?" he asked over the low sizzle of oil heating. Kaito, in the process of tipping a container of chicken into the pan, glanced over from the stove to look at where Shinichi was indicating.

"Yeah. My water bill is pretty steep because of them, but the different colors are entirely necessary, I assure you." He grinned and moved for a sieve full of vegetables. Picking up an unnecessarily large knife, he cut into a mushroom without looking, which gave Shinichi mild heart palpitations. "They're worth it, though. They got you here, didn't they?"

"I'm not here to steal your rose garden," Shinichi informed him, wrinkling his nose. He jabbed a finger at the knife still clutched in Kaito's hand. "Pay attention when you're using that, please. I'm not reattaching your thumb when you cut it off."

"Yes, sir," Kaito agreed, looking down at the chopping board as he resumed dicing. He was still smiling to himself, softer now. "And it really warms my heart to hear that you're not just after my rose collection." He glanced up, shaking his head with perfectly affected anguish. "So many people are, you see. They just see me as a free supply of roses."

"Oh, right, because when people meet you, the first thing they're thinking of is how they can infiltrate your rose garden and not your pants," scoffed Shinichi before he could think better of it. The knife clattered alarmingly, and for a heartstopping moment Shinichi was positive Kaito had cut a limb off, but when he looked over, Kaito was watching him with an overjoyed, shit-eating grin, hands clasped to his chest and mushrooms lying forlorn and forgotten in various states of evisceration.

"Is that what you were thinking when you first met me, Inspector?" he asked, eyes shining. Shinichi grappled with the urge to flush and lost, horribly.

"I didn't say that," he muttered. His cheeks felt scalding. When Kaito's expression didn't change—growing smugger and more amused, if anything—he added, "The chicken's burning." It wasn't, but Kaito still swore and ran for the pan. Shinichi leaned against the wall beside the door and breathed out.

The omurice was better than Shinichi was expecting, although Kaito drew an obnoxious heart on Shinichi's with the ketchup and wiggled his eyebrows when Shinichi glared at him for it. Shinichi made a point to cut the omurice down the middle of the heart. Kaito didn't even pout, which probably meant he was still thinking about what Shinichi had said.

They were halfway through dinner, sitting on cushions around the low table in the living room, when Shinichi caught sight of the clock hanging above the kitchen sink and sat up straight in his seat. It was nearing six o'clock.

"Hey, is it okay if we turn the TV on?" He gestured at the moderately sized TV hanging above a squat bookshelf across the room. Kaito, spoon in his mouth, nodded and got up to turn the TV on. He pulled the spoon out of his mouth when Shinichi crawled over to flip through the channels, jabbing past a baseball game and several variety shows with canned laughter.

"It's fine, but why are we…" Kaito trailed off when Shinichi sat back in triumph and the Detective Samonji logo faded in on the screen. Suzuhara's face swelled large in one corner, complete with scar and dashingly mussed hair, as his name scrolled by in a blocky font. Kaito scowled. "Wow. Okay."

"There's a new episode on tonight," insisted Shinichi, although he knew he could catch a rerun later. He mostly just wanted to see Kaito's reaction. Maybe it was bad, but he was beginning to develop the strangest desire to uncover every one of Kaito's expressions.

"I can't believe you would do this to me in my own home," Kaito griped. He scrubbed a hand down his face. "Why couldn't you be one of my fans instead? I would literally rather watch the whole pilot episode of Heartline than this, and that was filmed back when I didn't know how to act better than a teen idol in a summer horror movie."

"I doubt you were ever that bad," Shinichi said before he reached over and poked Kaito firmly in the cheek. Kaito froze. "Sit back and enjoy the show. This one's supposed to be based on one of the novels, so it's going to be good." With a sigh of relief, Shinichi dragged himself back over to the table and picked up his spoon, eyes intent on the TV.

"Have you _read_ that novel?" Kaito demanded, hands on his hips.

"Yeah. Got it the day it was released," Shinichi answered, watching as the scene opened on a stylized bird's eye shot of a crime scene. Kaito looked mystified as he plopped back down at the table and cast a suspicious glance at the screen.

"Then don't you know what's going to happen anyway?" he muttered, scowling.

"Shhh, it's starting," hissed Shinichi, threatening him with his spoon, and Kaito surrendered.

The episode was good, one of the better ones of the season. Shinichi didn't hate the TV originals, but the book-based ones always had more engaging plots. It was a little surreal to watch the episode knowing what Suzuhara looked like under all the makeup, though. Especially when Samonji's top got torn in an action scene, likely for fanservice reasons, and Shinichi thought, a little hysterical, that he'd seen those abs in person.

Throughout the whole thing, Kaito was mostly quiet. He kept making comments under his breath, quiet enough that Shinichi couldn't hear unless he paid attention, but they mostly seemed to be about Suzuhara and the plot of the case. At one point, he announced, "The maid did it."

Pausing in his efforts to scrape up the last bit of rice, Shinichi glanced over at him. He was right, but the whole episode had been structured to make it seem as if the eldest son was the murderer. Shinichi himself hadn't realized that the maid was the real murderer until almost a hundred pages in.

"You seem pretty sure of yourself," he remarked, lifting one eyebrow. Kaito shrugged and slid a sly smile at him.

"Because I'm right." He bit into a mushroom with finality.

Shinichi couldn't argue with that reasoning.

When the maid ended up attacking Samonji with a butter knife after he revealed her as the killer, Kaito gave him a self-satisfied look and leaned back on his hands. Shinichi shook his head at him and went to take their plates to the kitchen, washing them and ignoring Kaito when he made noise about guests doing housework and unnecessary work and Inspector, really, you don't need to do that.

"It's getting late," Shinichi remarked as he came back out to the living room. The episode had ended, and now there was a procedural police drama chattering in the background. Kaito had migrated to the couch and was lying across the cushions, one hand draped over his forehead like someone from a regency film. He cracked one eye open, first to read the clock, then to look at Shinichi, and sat up, stretching. His shirt rode up, exposing the dips of his stomach. Shinichi stared fixedly at a spot over the top of his head until Kaito's arms dropped back down.

"Want me to walk you home?" Kaito got to his feet, regarding Shinichi with slight concern.

"You want to _walk_ all the way to Beika? I'll take the train, thanks." Shinichi laughed at the unimpressed look on Kaito's face, waving him off as he headed for the front door. "It's fine, Kaito-san. I can take care of myself. I'm a police officer, remember? I face down murderers and arsonists and kidnappers all the time. It's part of the job." Kaito made a face.

"Let me walk you to the station anyway. For the sake of my mental wellbeing," he said, employing puppy eyes as he followed Shinichi to the genkan. Stepping out of the slippers, Shinichi squinted at him.

"I did survive for twenty-seven years before you came along." And wasn't that a strange thought, Shinichi couldn't help but think. He'd known Kaito for a few days, and yet it seemed strange to remember a time before that. Shinichi chalked it up to spending hours on end with the man.

"Still." The beginnings of a pout settled on Kaito's face.

"I literally have a gun." Shinichi patted his hip holster, which Kaito had somehow managed to miss.

Kaito paused. Shinichi raised his eyebrows, daring him to argue, and he made a face but subsided, leaning against the wall to watch Shinichi pull on his shoes.

"You've made your case." Kaito sighed with dramatism that was both endearing and embarrassing. "It's just so hard to see you go, Inspector."

Shinichi, halfway done lacing his shoes back up, paused. The thought had been percolating at the back of his mind since earlier, with Suzuhara, but he hadn't acted on it, feeling as though it might make things awkward. But looking up into Kaito's earnest, teasing face, in the quiet of Kaito's apartment, with his tie loosened and his inhibition eaten away along with the meal Kaito had actually cooked for him, he didn't know why he hadn't.

"You know," Shinichi began, slowly, "I wouldn't really mind if you called me by my name. Shinichi, I mean."

The look on Kaito's face—Shinichi had never seen anything like it. He looked ecstatic, as if Shinichi had shot down the sun for him, or offered him a universe and a half instead of the right to call him by his name. It felt strange, being this powerful, having the ability to make Kaito this happy with something so insignificant. Shinichi felt a strange feeling swell behind his sternum.

"Really?" Kaito asked around his smile. "Are you sure?"

Shinichi shrugged. He could feel the tips of his ears going red and turned towards the door.

"You might as well. You've been letting me call you by _your_ first name, after all," he pointed out. "It's only fair." He hazarded a glance back at Kaito and almost wished he hadn't, because he didn't know what to do with the soft, affectionate look Kaito gave him in return. "Thanks for dinner. It was great. And thanks for watching the show with me."

"No problem." Kaito was still beaming at him. If _fond_ was a verb, it would perfectly encapsulate what he was doing, the way he was looking at Shinichi. "Thanks for coming, Shinichi."

It was official. Shinichi was bright red, like a sunburned lobster. He cleared his throat, nodded, cast a last, awkward look back at Kaito, and managed to get the door open. All the way back down to the street, he felt strangely warm. Not even the night chill bothered him.

* * *

 **A few issues that I wanted to clear up:**

 **Kaito was never Kaitou Kid in this universe; his stage name was KID at the beginning of his career. I totally didn't make that clear, which I apologize for.**

 **The second thing I wanted to address was Shinichi's blood type. I couldn't find a definitive answer about what blood type Shinichi and Ran are (yes, I do actually recall the Desperate Revival arc and how their rare, shared blood type was a plot point) so I looked up some Japanese blood type horoscopes and picked the one I thought was most applicable to Shinichi, and that turned out to be type A. I know it's not ~canon-compliant~ because type A blood isn't rare, but I'm too lazy to fix it now, so.**

 **As for the other mistakes that you all pointed out... yeah, those are all valid. Sorry.**

 **Anyway, hope you're enjoying this fic (if you are, please consider dropping me a review)! Special shoutout to Eve, who's my first Patron :D Thank you so much, darling :D**

 **See you all soon! - Luna**


	3. day three

_Here's part 3! - Luna_

* * *

 **day three.**

* * *

Noon the following day found Shinichi en route to an outdoor lot adjacent to the Nichiuri television station, loitering on the sidewalk as he tried to find an entrance through the eight-feet-high chain-link fence, which denoted the area as restricted for private use. He'd spent the morning giving a status report of the investigation to Superintendent Matsumoto, who, against all odds, turned out to be a diehard Kuroba Kaito fan.

("Are you sure this is okay?" Matsumoto had asked, uncharacteristically and horrifyingly shy. Shinichi, staring down at the poster with Kaito's airbrushed face splashed across it, had just sighed, rolled it up, and tucked into his jacket.

"Don't worry. I'll get it signed for you," he had told Matsumoto and received an unmanly squeal in return.)

A text from an unfamiliar number had appeared on Shinichi's phone as he got on the train to Ekoda, telling him in crisp, formal language that Kaito would be filming on Outdoor Lot #3. The message was unsigned, but it was abundantly clear that the text had come from Miho. Shinichi had no idea how she had obtained his number, but he decided not to question it.

Shinichi eventually came upon a creaky door that swung open with weak complaints when he pushed on it. The lot appeared to be occupied by a carefully maintained profusion of grass and wildflowers. In the distance, Shinichi could see cameras and people drifting around in a way that he was starting to associate with photoshoots and filming.

Kaito was mid-shot when Shinichi made it to the group of people. He was reclining barefoot on a grassy slope in a white linen shirt and light wash jeans, both of which Shinichi doubted would last long against the probability of irreparable grass stains. He was peering off into the distance, one hand sheltering his eyes and the other propping him up. The breeze ruffled his hair, which, for once, looked unstyled and free of product. The sky behind him was endless, jewel-toned blue. It was a pastoral, cheerful scene. Shinichi had no idea what he was supposed to be advertising.

Himari, who had been idling by a cameraman, perked up and ran over when she saw him, nearly bowling over a man holding a reflecting plate. Her hair was aquamarine today, twisted back into a complicated chignon, and studded with what looked like tiny princess-cut diamonds. Shinichi had given up on understanding it. He nodded at her in greeting.

"What's this photoshoot for? Some kind of allergy medication?" he asked in an undertone as the director of the shoot shouted something about softness and smolder and sex appeal (?) and Kaito presumably complied. Himari grinned with cranberry red lips.

"Car insurance," she replied. Shinichi blinked and surveyed the lot for any obviously placed cars that he'd somehow missed on the way in. He found none.

"But… there aren't any cars?" he ventured.

"Hey, I'm not a car insurer. I don't know how this is supposed to work." Himari shrugged and flicked her bangs out of her eyes. "If they think Kai-chan lying in a field will get them more customers, that's their problem, not ours." She sighed with a hint of dreaminess. "Of course, Kai-chan could sell anything with that face, so maybe we're the ones in the wrong."

"Right," agreed Shinichi uneasily. The director was now asking Kaito to "look soulfully into the distance, like you're mourning a lost lover," which Kaito executed to perfection after a brief struggle to get his rising eyebrows under control. Shinichi wondered how long the shoot had been going and what number of expressions Kaito had been shanghaied into making.

"Excellent, excellent. I can really feel the loss," the director yelled, clapping. Kaito was now staring at him with undisguised bewilderment. "Break for fifteen!"

Kaito peeled himself off the ground, plucking a blade of grass off his shoulder before he caught sight of Shinichi and grinned, vaulting towards him like an excitable golden retriever. Against all odds, both his shirt and his jeans had escaped the grass chlorophyll-free.

"Shinichi!" he called as he narrowly avoided collision with an intern handing out water bottles. Himari, who had been inspecting her nails, jumped.

"That's new," she commented, turning to give Shinichi a knowing look that implied he was more see-through than a windowpane. Shinichi tried not to give her the satisfaction of witnessing him blush, but her smile only widened and she started to hum something that sounded suspiciously close to "I Will Always Love You," so it was clear he hadn't succeeded.

"Shinichi," Kaito repeated, a little breathless as he stopped beside Shinichi. "I wasn't expecting you. I mean, I was hoping, but I didn't think you'd actually come." Before Shinichi could say anything, he extended a fist in a gesture that was becoming familiar and twisted his wrist with a flourish to reveal a pink rose. This one wasn't gradated like the others had been—the petals were champagne pink from base to tip, the color so light it would've looked white in different lighting. Shinichi accepted it, shaking his head.

"Where were you even keeping that this whole time? Did you have that on you during the shoot?" he demanded, staring at Kaito's sleeves, which were rolled up to his elbows. Kaito smirked.

"Wouldn't you like to know."

"I would, actually," Shinichi muttered, but he broke the stem and fitted the flower into his buttonhole anyway. It gleamed, almost pearlescent, in the warm sunlight. Kaito, as always, looked massively pleased, which in turn made Shinichi feel overheated from head to toe. He ducked his head, rubbing at the nape of his neck.

"Aw," Himari cooed. Shinichi turned to glare at her just in time to watch her slide her phone back into the pocket of her jeans. He narrowed his eyes at her.

"Please tell me you didn't post that anywhere."

"I didn't post that anywhere," she recited, clearly lying, if her smirk was any indication. Shinichi rubbed at his forehead and made the executive decision to let it go. It wasn't as if there weren't more embarrassing photos of him solving cases as a hormonal teenager floating around already. At least in this one there was Kaito to draw attention away from whatever unflattering expression he'd undoubtedly been making.

"I see you found the lot, Inspector," came a voice from behind them, and a moment later Miho came to stand beside Kaito, her heels sticking slightly in the grass. She reached into her bag to pull out a bottle of water, which she handed to Kaito. Kaito took it, blinking in confusion as Shinichi nodded at her.

"Thanks for the text. Otherwise, I would've just ended up in the dressing room wondering where everyone else was." Kaito startled and turned to look at Miho.

"Is that how he ended up here? You texted him?" His eyes widened before he elbowed her in the side. Miho didn't even flinch, instead giving him an unimpressed look that could've leveled a city block but apparently had little to no effect on Kaito, because he shook her by the shoulders. Shinichi watched, mystified. "You have his number? Miho! Why didn't you give it to me?"

"Because I didn't want you to inundate him with asinine messages." Miho looked as if she was trying not to roll her eyes. "I'm sure the inspector has better things to do than text you." Kaito made a face and let go of her. Himari giggled.

"Betrayed by my own manager," Kaito mumbled, looking as if he were about to settle in for a long sulk. Shinichi couldn't look at him and his metaphorical lowered tail for more than twelve seconds before he capitulated like so much ice cream left out in the July sun.

"Give me your arm," he said with resignation, and Kaito frowned at him but stuck out his arm anyway. Shinichi fumbled in his jacket pocket for a pen before he took Kaito's arm by the wrist, pushed Kaito's sleeve up to expose his bicep, and scrawled his number right above the crease of his elbow. Then he tugged Kaito's sleeve back down to cover it. "There. Now you have the ability to send me whatever asinine text you want. No promises that I'll respond, though."

He made the mistake of glancing up into Kaito's face as he stepped back and tucked the pen away. It was like a replay of the other night. That same muted, warm gleam had entered Kaito's eyes, his mouth pulling up at the corners in a lopsided smile, and he made Shinichi feel as if Shinichi were the only person in the world that Kaito cared about. It was terrifying, the way Kaito made him feel.

They—or at least Shinichi was—were brought back to reality by the sound of the director calling the photoshoot back into session. Shinichi cleared his throat, studying the ground. The five-inch heels on Miho's shoes were sunk at least halfway into the soft ground now, he noticed, and Himari was wearing holographic sneakers.

"Well, I guess that's my cue," Kaito said brightly. Shinichi glanced up as he reached out to ruffle Himari's hair, earning himself a horrified shriek—"Kai-chan, it took me an hour to do this hairstyle!"—before he headed back to where the cameramen were waiting. When he was halfway there, though, he paused and jogged into hearing range.

"I forgot to mention it, Shinichi, but I brought your jacket. You left it at my place last night." Kaito jerked his chin in the direction of the studio. He was still smiling a little, as if he couldn't help it. "I left it in the dressing room. Should be unlocked if you want to go grab it." He winked before he walked off.

Shinichi felt both Miho and Himari looking at him with renewed interest. He cringed.

"It wasn't like that," he began, but Himari slapped him on the back, laughing.

"Wow, Shin-chan, keep it up and we'll be giving you the shovel talk in no time at all." She leaned closer, conspiratorial, and Shinichi edged away. In the open air, her perfume was less violent, but it was still enough to make the back of his throat itch if she got too close. "Kai-chan hasn't dated in a while, you know, but I think we could hand him off to you if we had to." She grinned over at Miho. "Right, Miho-san?"

Miho just raised her artfully shaped eyebrows at him and crossed her arms over the front of her silk blouse, a smirk twisting her mouth up on one side. Shinichi sort of felt as if he'd already gotten the shovel talk from her.

"I'm just—I'm going to go grab my jacket, thanks," he stammered before making a tactical retreat. Himari yelled something after him—it sounded a bit like "Aw, don't run away, Shin-chan, we're your future sisters-in-law!"—but he ignored her.

For the first time, there was a receptionist behind the front desk, but the man was focused on his computer screen with such intense concentration that Shinichi doubted he even noticed Shinichi walking by. The hallways were moderately busy, and a few people cast curious looks at Shinichi as he passed. He hoped it wasn't because they recognized him from Himari's Instagram.

He was about to open the door to Kaito's dressing room when it flew open, startling him into a gasp. Shinichi found himself suddenly face-to-face with Suzuhara, who made a weak choking sound and took an instinctive step back. He was red down his neck and sweating noticeably, his forehead gleaming under the fluorescent lights, and he looked at Shinichi with a trace of unadulterated panic before his face smoothed out into something less readable. Shinichi felt his eyebrows jump.

"Suzuhara-san," he said, cautious. He peered over Suzuhara's shoulder into the room, which appeared to be otherwise empty, before he looked back at Suzuhara, who was frozen. "Uh, what's going on?"

"It's nothing! Good to see you, Inspector. I mean, uh, Shinichi-kun. Sorry, I just have to—yeah." Suzuhara smiled mechanically and slithered past Shinichi without another word. Shinichi stared after him, brow furrowed. That had been… strange. He readjusted his mental assessment of Suzuhara from _a little odd_ to _potentially_ _unstable_.

The vanity was cluttered with makeup and bags and half-broken-down packaging to the point that Shinichi couldn't see the surface of the counter. It looked as if Himari had broken out new makeup without bothering to clean up afterwards. Nothing seemed to stand out to him in particular, though. A look around the room itself didn't yield anything out of place. With a growing sense of unease, Shinichi located and grabbed his jacket—which Kaito had slung across the back of a chair—and headed back out to the lot.

The shoot was finished by the time Shinichi made it back, the cameramen and assistants in the process of packing up. Miho and Himari had disappeared off somewhere, but Kaito was waiting for him, hands tucking into his pockets. He waved when he saw Shinichi and hurried over. Whatever he'd been doing while Shinichi was gone had resulted in grass stains all over his elbows and knees. Shinichi decided not to think about what positions could cause that.

"The shoot's over?" he asked when Kaito slowed to a stop beside him. "Am I going to see you sprawled out across a billboard advertising premium insurance plans someday soon?"

"I don't know why you're acting like I couldn't sell car insurance," Kaito sniffed. As he stepped past Shinichi, he hooked his arm around the bend of Shinichi's elbow, pulling him back towards the entrance. Shinichi was too surprised to put up much resistance. "Also, by the way, I have a proposition for you."

"Oh?" Shinichi tried not to look too—too _anything_ , really. He didn't want to seem too hopeful or excited or terrified. "And what's that?"

"I've got a magic show planned for this evening," Kaito told him, dropping Shinichi's arm and skipping a few steps ahead so he could look Shinichi in the eyes as he walked backwards. His face was bright with enthuasiasm. "I don't do them that often anymore, but I like to keep in practice. And I was thinking—since you're so impressed," Shinichi gave him a flat look; he soldiered on anyway, "by my amazing rose trick, you might like one of my full stage performances. I could get you a seat for tonight." He spread his hands. "What do you think? You interested?"

Shinichi eyed him for a moment. Kaito's smile was blinding.

"I feel like there's a catch somewhere," Shinichi said, and frowned when Kaito radiated innocence so artificial it stung his eyes to look at. "You're planning something." Kaito gasped in mock outrage.

"Shinichi! I can't _believe_ you would accuse me of something so ridiculous!" He waved an arm for dramatic effect and accidentally bashed it against the chain-link fence, which they had just arrived at, and emitted a squeaky sound of pain. "Ow!"

Watching him cradle his hand to his chest, giving Shinichi a wounded, hopeful look, Shinichi had the reluctant, wary thought of _How bad could it be_?, which was definitely going to jinx him now that he'd thought it. But, as Shinichi was discovering more and more, he was weak for Kaito in ways he'd never expected.

"All right," he groaned, pressing his thumb and index into the inner corners of his eyes. "Just because things have been really quiet on the investigation front and you don't seem to be a serial killer, I will go to your show. Please stop giving me that look." Kaito brightened.

"I promise you won't regret it!" he chirped. Shinichi glared at him.

"I feel like that's a lie and this is all a horrible, horrible trap," he muttered as they exited the lot. He paused for a moment. "Hey, since I'm doing that for you, can you do me a favor that you can never mention again?"

"Uh, sure?" Kaito said, looking intrigued. Shinichi suppressed a sigh and reached inside his jacket to pull out the rolled-up poster that Matsumoto had entrusted him with.

"Could you sign this?"

Predictably, Kaito looked thrilled.

* * *

Shinichi arrived at the Ekoda Theatre for Performing Arts at a little past six-thirty. The building's facade was beautiful and intricate, done in gold tones and deep velvety reds, and there were already women in sheath dresses and complicated hairstyles and men in suits and hideously patterned ties spilling out the front doors. Shinichi smoothed a hand down the front of his tuxedo—Kaito had been adamant that he come in a tuxedo and not just a dark suit—touched at the bits of his fringe that had escaped the clutches of the pomade he'd slathered on, and cut past the lines to enter the lobby, earning himself a slew of glares acidic enough to strip paint.

The inside of the theater was just as elegant as the outside, with spotless, plush carpeting that gave beneath his dress shoes and swooping, vaulted ceilings. A glance into the main auditorium revealed a similar design scheme, complete with velvet-lined seats, embossed sideboards stretching the length of the room, and a heavy glass chandelier suspended above the stage. The door leading backstage was camouflaged well behind an exotic-looking potted plant in a gilded pot, marked, in inconspicuous lettering, as _STAFF ONLY_. Shinichi made his way through, feeling eyes drilling into his back.

It didn't take him long to find the green room. Whoever designed the theater must not have been friends with whoever designed the Nichuri television station, because the hallway was a straight line with obviously labeled doors, which Shinichi appreciated. He knocked on the door to the green room, waited for some kind of noise of acquiescence from the other side, and opened the door.

Kaito had his back to the door, facing a full-length mirror as he fixed his hair and tugged the lapels of his jacket into place, but when Shinichi entered, he whipped around, beaming. Shinichi stared, at a momentary loss for words. Kaito was wearing a white suit that should've brought to mind a retired colonel on a tropical cruise, but instead it just made him look almost ethereal, like a specter about to slip away into the dark. His hair had been tamed into something less wild, but it still stuck out in little curls at the back.

 _Wow_ , Shinichi thought blankly before he was hit with a wave of self-consciousness, standing there gaping at Kaito while in a wholly unremarkable black tux. He shoved it down, though, because Kaito was looking at him with warm, almost hungry eyes.

"I really need to go back in time and thank myself for making you wear a tuxedo," he remarked, and whistled. "You look wonderful tonight, darling." Shinichi flushed from head to toe, mostly from the appellation. Nobody had called him _darling_ before. Especially not looking like that.

"And you look like you're full of bullshit," he muttered in an attempt to hide his embarrassment. Kaito just laughed before he flicked a hand and magicked a rose into existence, brandishing it at Shinichi. It was a deep red, probably a single shade off from the burgundy of the carpet outside, that melted into a color so dark it was almost black near the tips. Shinichi raised an eyebrow.

"Two roses in one day?" he asked, skeptical. "I don't know why you'd think people are after your rose garden if you're the one who's just handing them out like this." Kaito smirked.

"Most people don't get even one rose a day," he said mysteriously. Shinichi squinted at him for a second before he gave up on deciphering Kaito and his enigmatic smile and instead reached for the rose, but Kaito pulled it out of reach. Shinichi felt his eyebrows lower.

"Don't give me that look. You'll get your rose in the end." Kaito ran the tip of the rose over Shinichi's cheek so lightly it almost tickled before he threaded the stem through Shinichi's buttonhole and snapped off the excess, all in one sinuous movement. He was so close that Shinichi could smell the faint scent of his cologne, tangy and sweet.

Kaito stood back with a sigh of contentment. His gaze roved over Shinichi, not quite lecherously, but not chastely, either. Appreciatively, maybe. Shinichi swallowed.

"Now you're perfect," Kaito murmured, meeting Shinichi's eyes as he tilted his face back up. His eyelashes were truly ridiculous and unnecessary, Shinichi decided.

"I wasn't before?" Shinichi retorted, and just like that the tension broke. Kaito grinned.

"Of course I didn't mean it like that, Shinichi. You're _always_ perfect to me." Shinichi regarded him with suspicion.

"Right," he said in a tone that hopefully conveyed his dubiousness. "Well, on that note, I'm going to find my seat, and you're going to get ready for the show." He squinted at Kaito. "And you're not going to drag me into anything that I didn't sign up for." Kaito adopted a hurt expression, though there was still a twist to his mouth that Shinichi didn't trust.

"When have I ever given you the idea that I would do something like that?"

"Every second I've ever spent with you," Shinichi replied, tart—Kaito affected outrage that didn't make it within a mile of his eyes—before he softened, one hand pausing on the doorknob. He glanced back over at Kaito, who was now watching him with raised eyebrows. "Hey—I doubt I need to say this, but good luck. You're going to do great." Kaito's whole face went affectionate.

"Thank you, Shinichi," he answered, smirk melting away to reveal something gentler. Shinichi nodded, one last awkward movement, before he stepped out of the room and shut the door behind him with a soft click. He released a long, shaky breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

With a strange feeling blooming in his stomach, Shinichi realized that Kaito hadn't stopped smiling since Shinichi had walked into the room. The thought made him feel dopey and kind of stupidly happy.

His seat, according to the overenthusiastic text message that Kaito had sent him a few hours ago, was located in the center of the front row, which made Shinichi all the warier of Kaito's intentions. He didn't doubt that Kaito was going to make him participate in some manner, no matter what the man himself said. Shinichi just hoped it wasn't anything traumatizing, especially when he saw just how many people were packing into the room. A woman in a one-shouldered dress took the seat beside him, batting her probably fake eyelashes in his direction until he tilted away from her, towards the paunchy man on his left, in what he hoped was a clear rejection.

He pulled out his phone after a few minutes of awkwardly avoiding the woman's sultry stares, even though he had nothing of importance to do on it since Ran had deleted his cat collecting game in a fit of pique. Out of sheer boredom, he googled _Kuroba Kaito_ , which pulled up millions of results. Scrolling through the listings, a link advertising a Kuroba Kaito forum caught his attention. When he clicked on it, he was confronted with a series of posts from its moderator, someone named yuyu1412 (?), discussing Kaito's choice of clothing, his workout routine, any photos he'd been tagged in, and other variously stalkerish details of his life, although none of the posts were particularly recent. The latest one was already five months old. Shinichi frowned down at the screen.

Shinichi's train of thought was violently derailed, though, when the show started with a bang. A literal bang, because there was an explosion of confetti, pink smoke, and doves somewhere above the stage before Kaito dropped out of nowhere. It was insane: Shinichi didn't even blink, but Kaito was suddenly there, materialized out of nowhere. The woman sitting next to him jumped two inches out of her chair.

Thunderous applause rose from the audience as Kaito bent into a half-bow, laughing. He was glowing underneath the stage lights.

"Well, hello, everyone," he called, to cheers and a surge of excited noise. Shinichi sank back into his seat, watching the proceedings with a smile creeping across his face. Yes, Kaito never seemed stiff as an actor, but he was even more comfortable as a magician. Just sitting and observing as he moved across the stage—lobbing jokes at the audience, leaving flowers and fireworks in his wake—made Shinichi feel as though he were seeing Kaito at his most natural, his most real.

Of course, that didn't stop Shinichi from trying to figure out how he was doing all of it. He stared particularly hard as Kaito disappeared, then reappeared at the other side of the stage, beaming as everyone clapped. He seemed to be doing it faster than the time it would take for him to run that far across the stage, but how else could he make it there? Was he being lifted, somehow, or was there something else Shinichi was overlooking? And then when Kaito casually walked off the front of the stage, unconcerned as he strode across nothing but thin air—Shinichi was doing a lot of frantic thinking.

He was so concentrated that he almost missed it when Kaito, safely returned to the stage, announced, "And now, for my next trick, I need a volunteer." There was an instant ripple of interest throughout the crowd, at least until Kaito added, "Well, I say _volunteer_ , but I really just mean that a very special friend of mine is in the audience, and I want to take this chance to embarrass him. Please welcome to the stage Kudou Shinichi!"

Shinichi knew before it happened that a spotlight would be focused directly in his face. He was not wrong. He closed his eyes, praying he wouldn't murder anyone with this many witnesses around, as the cheering around him swelled into a crescendo. The woman beside him was clutching at her pearl necklace and looking at him as if he'd grown a mushroom out of the top of his head.

"I hate you," Shinichi muttered, which made her goggle all the harder. With a groan, he levered himself out of his seat and headed for the stairs that led up to the stage. It was different, up there, even beyond the fact that there was a sea of attentive faces staring at him as if he were a scimitar-horned oryx in a zoo enclosure. The room sprawled in front of him seemed larger, and the light from the chandelier made everything overbright and dizzying.

Kaito was grinning at him as he approached, somehow managing to look past the fact that Shinichi was glaring at him as if he hoped Kaito would spontaneously combust.

"Here he is, Kudou Shinichi in the flesh. You may know him from my makeup artist's Instagram, if you saw what she posted earlier today." Shinichi wondered wildly why everyone in the audience seemed to be nodding. How many followers did Himari _have_? Oblivious, Kaito threw an arm over his shoulder, a warm, grounding weight.

"Doesn't he look absolutely stunning tonight?" he asked, which made Shinichi want to throw something large and heavy at him. There were a few whistles and catcalls. Shinichi decided that after this was all over, he was going to go find a nice rock to decompose underneath. "How're you feeling, Shinichi?"

"Like _someone_ broke his promise not to embarrass me in front of a live audience," replied Shinichi, pointed. Kaito laughed along with the audience. His eyes seemed different underneath the spotlights—livelier, maybe, with more spark.

"You'll forgive me," he smirked, and Shinichi was intensely annoyed that he was right. "But for now, I need you to help me with a trick, darling." Shinichi flinched when someone cooed loudly, triggering a wave of laughter. "How do you feel about a little levitation? You would be the one levitating, of course."

"I feel like I'll believe it when I see it," Shinichi returned. Kaito looked delighted.

"Ooh, playing hard to get," he said—very unnecessarily, in Shinichi's opinion—and walked backwards until he reached the edge of the stage, his hands in the air as if to show that he wasn't anywhere near Shinichi. "I do love a challenge."

Shinichi was about to ask Kaito to stop flirting with him in front of hundreds of people when he felt a strange, disconcerting tug along his upper back. He looked down just in time to see his feet lift away from the ground as he drifted up into the air. For a split-second, he felt an upwelling of panic before he caught sight of Kaito's amused face and thought back to the last few minutes. Then he just felt vaguely irritated.

He paused for a moment, trying to decide if he should expose how the trick worked—that would be bad for Kaito, wouldn't it?—and in that second of hesitation, he flew another foot higher, to the background noise of oohing from the audience. Kaito grinned up at him. Shinichi sighed and resigned himself to his fate.

"Do you believe it now, Shinichi?" Kaito called. Shinichi gave him an unenthusiastic look.

"I think we both know the answer to that."

Kaito opened his mouth, probably about to say something outrageous, but that was when the force that had been pulling Shinichi up snapped abruptly and deposited him on the stage with an ungraceful sound of surprise. Shinichi winced, pressing a hand to his sore nose. That probably hadn't been planned.

"Shinichi!" Kaito yelled, hurtling towards him, and there was a note of real panic in his voice that Shinichi didn't understand. He'd only been a few feet off the ground; it wasn't like he would break any bones. He glanced over at Kaito, about to tell him something to that effect, but then he happened to look up just in time to see the chandelier sway once, then twice, before it began to fall, straight towards him.

Shinichi wasn't quite sure what happened after that. Time seemed to blink by with alarming clairty. He knew he got half to his feet in semi-blind alarm before something bowled him over, tackling him to the ground just as a resounding crash rocked the stage and shards of various materials exploded everywhere. What felt like one of the chandelier's metal arms bashed into the ground beside his foot, missing it by the narrowest of margins. There were people screaming in the background, loud enough to make Shinichi's head ache where it had landed against the ground as his hearing sharpened.

He blinked open dusty eyes to find that Kaito was holding him against the ground, his arms still clasped around Shinichi's stomach. Evidently he'd been the one to push Shinichi aside, though how he'd managed to make in time from across the stage Shinichi couldn't understand. Kaito groaned, rubbing at his face with one plaster-dusted hand, and twisted away from Shinichi with a gasp. There was a profusely bleeding cut on his forehead, split from either the force of hitting the ground or from one of the jaggedly broken bits of chandelier surrounding them. His suit was torn in places, splotched brown with drips of blood along the collar.

"Are—are you okay, Shinichi?" he croaked, swiping at his face. He looked pretty terrible.

"Oh, God," Shinichi muttered. With some effort, he lifted his head just enough to see the sprawling mess of metal and glass. If it hadn't been for Kaito, he would've been directly underneath all of it. With a monumental effort, he lay back down. "I'm fine, Kaito-san. Thanks." His heart was beating so quickly it felt ready to explode out of his chest. "You saved my life."

"Anything for you, darling," rasped Kaito before he dropped his head against the stage and tried to regulate his breathing. Stagehands were beginning to spill out of the wings, talking frantically at too-loud volumes as they hurried over to where Shinichi and Kaito were.

"Are you okay?" someone asked, voice shaking, and Shinichi waved them off as he struggled into a seated, cross-legged position. The someone, who turned out to be a terrified-looking kid probably either in his teens or just out of them, watched him with panicky eyes. Shinichi tried to smile reassuringly, to little result. Nothing was broken, it felt like, and he probably would have bruises and scratches for days, but other than that, he was unharmed. Kaito, on the other hand…

"I'm fine, but Kaito-san needs to be looked at." Shinichi told the stagehand. Kaito flapped a hand at him and forced his eyes open with a visible effort. His eyelashes were sticky with drying blood.

"No, it's okay. It's just a cut from the broken glass. I don't think I have a concussion or anything," Kaito insisted. Shinichi stared at him.

"If you think I'm going to just let you walk out of here looking like an extra from a horror movie, there's definitely _something_ wrong with your head." He gave Kaito a significant look and pushed him back down when Kaito tried to sit up—gently, of course, but not without a little force behind it. "Lie there and wait for the paramedics." He glanced at the stagehand, who was still hovering beside them. "Someone's called the paramedics, I hope? And the police."

"Yeah, the stage manager did a-as soon as she could," the kid answered. His eyes kept darting from Kaito's face to Shinichi's, and Shinichi was suddenly aware, with a sinking feeling, that he was about to burst into tears. "We—we don't know what happened! There have never been any problems with the chandelier before! We keep it maintained, I swear, somebody just looked at it a few weeks ago, even—"

"Calm down," Shinichi said, putting a hand on his head. The kid instantly went silent, but his bottom lip continued to shake. "This isn't your fault. You didn't do anything wrong. And hey, nobody's seriously injured, right?" At the kid's nod, he smiled and ruffled his hair. "The worst will probably be the cleanup, and that won't even be too bad. Don't make this your fault."

The kid nodded, still tearful.

"Okay," he sniffled, wiping at his eyes, "okay. Sorry, I just, uh…"

"It's fine. You're just in shock." Shinichi withdrew his hand. "Now, if you could check to see if the paramedics are on their way…?" The kid swallowed and bobbed his head.

"Yeah, I can do that." He sounded grateful for the chance to do something vaguely helpful. "I can. Yeah. Thank you." Standing up, he glanced over at Kaito with slightly narrowed eyes. "Your boyfriend is way nicer than you, Kuroba-san."

"Isn't he?" Kaito laughed, his voice rough, as Shinichi choked on nothing and spent a minute hacking into his elbow madly. He pointed a finger at the kid, raising his eyebrows with purpose. "But don't get any ideas. Shinichi wouldn't go for a brat like you, Kazuki-chan. You're not his type." The kid rolled his eyes but wandered off.

Shinichi gave Kaito a withering look, which he felt bad about for half a second—Kaito had, after all, saved his life a few minutes ago, and he was the one lying there with blood dripping into his eyes—but then Kaito smirked at him and winked, and he decided he didn't care.

"And how would you know what my type is?" Shinichi demanded, and hoped his face wasn't broadcasting what he was thinking, which was _my type is annoying magician-actors who give me home-grown roses at every opportunity_. "For all you know, I could be into, uh…"

"Nineteen-year-olds?" Kaito offered innocently. Shinichi deflated.

"Yeah, all right. You've made your point." He rubbed a hand through the tacky, clinging mess that was now his hair. "We have bigger problems, though." Kaito frowned.

"What do you mean?" he murmured, though Shinichi could tell he knew exactly what Shinichi was thinking. Shinichi exhaled and climbed to his feet, wobbling until he managed to steady himself. A dull ache was building behind his eyes. His arm stung, and he looked down to see a long, shallow cut along his bicep.

"That kid said that the chandelier had been checked over less than two weeks ago," he said quietly. At the entrance to the auditorium, which had emptied of most of the guests at some point within the last few minutes, two uniformed paramedics scanned the room before Shinichi flagged them down and they hurried towards the stage. "Which means that it wasn't an accident. Someone tried to drop that chandelier."

"Someone was trying to kill you," Kaito surmised before one of the paramedics, a middle-aged woman, knelt beside him and began to survey his injuries. He caught Shinichi's eye over her shoulder. His expression was shuttered. "Is it the same killer, you think?"

"Sir." When Shinichi looked over, the other paramedic, a younger man with freckles spotting his cheeks, was motioning for him to sit. Shinichi did, and he reached into his kit for a bottle of antiseptic and a roll of bandages to treat the cut on Shinichi's arm.

For a long moment, the paramedics worked in tactful silence with both Shinichi and Kaito watching. The paramedic tending to Kaito was just beginning to apply pressure to his forehead when Shinichi spoke.

"It's hard to say, at this point. This isn't the right method, and I'm not the right victim. Both of the past victims were killed in the same way—deep, lethal cut to the throat—before they were transported to locations with specific ties to your past. The targets have been diehard fans of yours. I've only seen a few of your films, and I don't even qualify as a casual fan. This murder attempt was a lot more violent and public, in a place that has no particular emotional significance to you other than that you tend to hold your shows here currently, if I'm correct." Kaito winced and nodded. Shinichi couldn't tell if he was wincing at the antiseptic being applied to his face or what Shinichi was saying.

"Who knew that I would be at this show tonight?" Shinichi asked after a long moment. He was looking at Kaito out of the corner of his eye. If he hadn't, he would've missed the way Kaito's face creased.

"A lot of people," he answered. "Basically everyone at the TV station. My best friend. My parents." He exhaled, glancing over at Shinichi with an apology in the set of his jaw. "I was really happy that you agreed to come, so I sort of told everyone I saw. I—this is my fault."

"Don't say that." On instinct, Shinichi reached out to take Kaito's hand between his own. Kaito's palm was warm and slightly slick with sweat; Shinichi doubted his was much better. Kaito jerked at the contact, just enough that the paramedic looked alarmed, and craned his neck to look at Shinichi with his brows drawn in surprise. Shinichi smiled, as gently as he could. "Don't blame yourself. You couldn't have known this was going to happen. And anyway, you saved me. I'm _fine_. You're the one who's going to need stitches, not me."

Kaito continued to look miserable.

"But if you hadn't been on the stage at all, then—"

"Then it would've been someone else up there for the trick. Or it would've been you. And neither of those options is acceptable, even if you seem to think so, Mr. Martyr." Shinichi raised his eyebrows as he twisted to turn his back towards Kaito. Industrial-strength pins, attached to thin, trailing steel lines, were hooked through the back panel of his jacket. "Oh, and don't think that I forgot about that trick. Is this why you told me to wear a tuxedo? Because you thought the material would be thicker?" Despite himself, Kaito smirked, then flinched as the movement jostled his wound.

"I knew you'd figure it out. It probably wasn't the most subtle of tricks, pinning wires to the back of your jacket." Kaito paused. "Then again, I did get to put my arm around you, so maybe it's worth you thinking I'm a terrible magician."

"I don't think you're a _terrible_ magician," hedged Shinichi. In fact, he thought Kaito was an incredible magician, but his ego was already bloated as it was. "But I wouldn't be surprised if your whole audience figured out how you did that one."

"Usually I put a little more effort into distracting them while I stick the pins in," Kaito admitted. "But _you_ were distracting me, so." He made a face that suggested Shinichi would be to blame if his show got bad reviews. Shinichi scowled.

"Don't think you can pin this on me," he scoffed, and only realized he'd made the pun when both of the paramedics and Kaito started snickering madly. He sighed and shook his head.

They sat—lay, in Kaito's case—for another few minutes before the paramedic looking after Shinichi finished cleaning and bandaging his arm and took a step back, nodding at Shinichi with a quiet, "Have a good night, sir," before he wandered back out of the auditorium. Shinichi assumed he was going to calm the frightened guests or look into the damage.

"Hey," Kaito said softly, prompting Shinichi to look back over at him. His face was half-obscured by the bandage that the paramedic had plastered on, but Shinichi could still see part of his wry smile. "You know, you're really good at handling me." Shinichi arched a brow.

"What do you mean?"

"Just now, when I was ready to blame myself. You stopped me." Kaito laughed lowly. "You always know how to steer me away from dark thoughts. You always know how to make me feel better. About myself, about the situation, anything. I don't know how you do it." Something about the way his eyes focused in on Shinichi was enough to make Shinichi look away, blushing. Kaito's voice roughened. "You're one of a kind, Shinichi."

 _Oh God_. Shinichi cleared his throat.

"I think you might actually have hit your head in the crash," he said. Kaito just laughed. Shinichi abruptly realized he was still holding Kaito's hand and vacillated wildly between letting go and holding on. Kaito tightened his grip as if sensing his indecision.

The remaining paramedic took the opportunity to cut in.

"Excuse me, boys," she began in a reluctant tone, as if she hadn't wanted to interrupt whatever she thought was going on between them, "but, ah, Kuroba-san really should be taken to a hospital to get that cut stitched up as soon as possible. As far as I can tell, it's not from a hit to the head, as there's little bruising around it, so I doubt he has a concussion, at least. No brain injuries to impair his judgment. I would suggest someone accompany him to Ekoda General." she tacked on, giving Shinichi a meaningful look that Shinichi tried his hardest to ignore.

With a grunt, Kaito let go of Shinichi's hand—which suddenly and stupidly felt a little lonely—and dragged himself up until he was sitting upright. He looked awful, tiny bits of glass caught in his hair and dark brown blood all down his front, the bandage on his forehead already turning faintly reddish. He gave Shinichi an apologetic look.

"Sorry about all this. I didn't mean for you to end up babysitting me."

Shinichi gave him an icy look.

"Apologize _one more time_ ," he threatened, and Kaito beamed as he braced an arm around Shinichi's waist, tighter than necessary. Shinichi, graciously, didn't mention it.

"Well, I didn't expect tonight to end like this. Or at least, I was hoping it would end differently. But this isn't too bad," he announced cheerily as they staggered down the steps under the watchful gaze of the paramedic. Shinichi wondered how bad it would be if he left Kaito to fend for himself.

"I hope you don't mean that in a suggestive way," he eventually settled on replying. Kaito hummed. His hand drifted slightly lower, not low enough to warrant an elbow stabbed full-force into his spleen but still close to Shinichi's hip than his waist, and Shinichi gave him a wary, suspicious look.

"I have no qualms about hitting an injured man," he informed Kaito with dignity. Kaito feigned affront.

"How could you say that to the man who just saved your life?" he gasped. But he did relocate his hand to Shinichi's ribcage. Shinichi couldn't decide if he was disappointed or relieved. _Relieved_ , he told himself sourly, and walked a little faster towards the front doors, dragging a protesting Kaito along with him.

* * *

"Films these days," the doctor mumbled, pulling the thread through Kaito's forehead with savage force that Shinichi found excessive, judging from the way Kaito winced through the anesthetic and shifted where he was sitting on the examination table. "Promoting all sorts of ridiculous behaviors and ideas. Can't understand why anyone could watch those pieces of trash and think society's not going down the drain—"

"I think society's just changing, not necessarily getting worse, and movies and other media just reflect that change," Kaito offered, hesitantly. The doctor gave him an acidic look that made Kaito seem to realize that the man was holding a needle very close to his face.

"Of course you'd think that. You make your living off the damn things. Hell, you're probably half the reason why the film industry's still going in the wrong direction, if you're as famous as you say you are," he snapped, shoving the needle through Kaito's skin before he gave Kaito a considering look. "Were you the bastard in that shitty movie about horses? Because that was the idiot who made my idiot grandson think that running off to theater school instead of going to med school like the rest of the family was a good idea."

"Uh," Kaito said. "No?"

The doctor harrumphed and went back to stitching, still grumbling under his breath. Shinichi, who was leaning against a cabinet across the room filled with pill bottles and other medical instruments, grinned at Kaito over the man's shoulder. Kaito scowled in response.

A few more minutes passed in relative quiet. The doctor was in the middle of growling something about idols being lawless temptresses (?) when Shinichi's phone broke into song at his hip, playing the Okino Yoko song that he had saved as Ran's ringtone. Kaito looked annoyingly amused.

The doctor turned to give him a withering look, and Shinichi, sensing he was about to reroute his rant to younger generations and their newfangled technology, apologized hastily and scooted out the door.

"Hello, Ran?" he whispered into the phone, cupping his hand around the receiver as he closed the door behind him. The hospital hallway was mostly empty, although a few patients and a nurse gave him curious looks before going on their ways. "This isn't a really good time, you know—"

"Was there a good time for you to tell me that you're _shacked up with Kuroba Kaito_?" came Ran's mildly shrill response. Shinichi winced.

"Uh," he started. "Was… how did you find out?"

"Thanks to _you_ , my _amazing_ best friend, I had to find out from the _news_ , rather than _you_ , that you and _Kuroba Kaito_ almost got smashed by a _chandelier_!" Over the years, Shinichi had come up with a danger system for Ran's responses to him messing up. From the tone of her voice, she was hovering steadily around Mad Enough to Passive Aggressively Find a Way to Work It into Conversation for the Next Two Months, which wasn't ideal, but at least wasn't Mad Enough to Break Concrete Barehanded or Mad Enough to Tell His Mom.

"Yeah, about that." Shinichi rubbed at the back of his neck and exhaled. "Um, surprise, I'm overseeing the Kuroba Kaito investigation? With the murders?"

"I figured as much." Ran sighed heavily. "So? What's he like?" Her voice turned suggestive "You must like him."

"I must—what are you talking about?" Shinichi hissed into the phone, crouching down beside the doorframe so he could better curl up and die of embarrassment. An elderly man in a wheelchair rolled past him, staring. "How would you know that? I don't like him. I don't know him that well. No liking is happening in the least. No—constant flirtation. There's no liking." He realized he'd been babbling for a little too long and closed his mouth with a click, breathing loudly through his nose.

Ran was pointedly silent for a moment. Shinichi sweated.

"Shinichi, last I checked, sad, emotionally challenged inspectors working high-profile cases don't go to magic shows thrown by their suspects unless there's some kind of liking happening," Ran told him eventually. Shinichi frowned, staring at the floor beneath his shoes.

"I'm not sad or emotionally challenged," he said, wounded.

"Think back to the last five minutes, when you freaked out over the slightest suggestion that you felt something other than suspicion and apathy towards Kuroba Kaito." When Shinichi remained silent, she made a sound that strongly implied she was rolling her eyes. "I don't know what's so wrong about it, Shinichi." Ran must've sensed him opening his mouth to argue the point further, because he added, "And I saw that picture of him giving you the rose." Shinichi shut his eyes.

"You follow Watanabe-san on Instagram?" He knew Ran followed Kaito's movies to some extent, but he hadn't known she was a fan. His headache threatened to make a reappearance.

"No, I found it after I heard about your _near death experience_ "—Shinichi winced—"and googled you to see if there were any updates on the situation." There was the sound of shuffling, as if Ran had relocated to a different position to get more comfortable and settle in for some girl talk. Shinichi rubbed at the side of his face as she concluded, "But anyway. I can tell you're into him."

"You saw _one_ picture, and now you know exactly how I feel about Kaito-san?" Shinichi could taste his own doubt.

Ran must've pulled the phone away from her face, because he thought he heard her mutter "Oh my God, _Kaito-san_ " at a distance before her voice came through again.

"Call it a woman's intuition." Shinichi made an unconvinced noise, trying to express his skepticism, and Ran somehow smirked audibly in a way that did not bode well for Shinichi. "Also, I've known you since we were six, and I can tell when you're besotted. Your eyes always get all dopey and pining." She continued over Shinichi squawking in indignation. "Face it, Shinichi, I know what you look like when you're lovesick. Remember when you were in love with me when we were sixteen?"

"You said you've never bring that up again," Shinichi said, betrayed and also mortified. "And you were in love with me, too!"

"Inconsequential," sniffed Ran hurriedly, though she changed the subject. "Back to the subject at hand. Kuroba-san must like you too, or he wouldn't have invited you to one of his shows. Those things are _super_ exclusive—tickets sell out in under a minute, usually. He probably had to pull someone's ticket to get you a seat."

Shinichi bit at his bottom lip and sank to the ground.

"Maybe someone canceled," he tried. Ran snorted.

"Yeah, right. They would've just sold their ticket at a ridiculous price and made a huge profit." She paused. "Shinichi, why is it so hard to believe that Kuroba-san could be into you? You guys look at each other like—"

"Ran, I really don't want to talk about this," Shinichi snapped, and some fragment of the panic he was feeling must've translated across the line, because Ran went obediently silent. He breathed out before he swallowed and shoved a hank of hair out of his face. "It's more complicated than that, okay?"

For a moment, Ran didn't respond. Then she sighed, and Shinichi knew he'd won, at least for now.

"If you say so." She sounded reluctant to let it go. "Don't think this is over, though. I expect updates when chandeliers conspire to murder my best friend. Or when he finds out he's heading an investigation that involves a guy I had a poster of when I was eighteen."

"You had a poster of Kaito-san?" Shinichi asked, crestfallen, but that was when the door to the room opened and Kaito came out, freshly sewn and looking eager to leave the hospital. He angled an eyebrow at Shinichi when he saw him sitting on the floor.

"Are there no chairs available, Shinichi?" he wondered, laughing.

"Okay, bye, Ran, I'll talk to you soon, please don't call my mom over any of this, thanks," Shinichi blurted into the phone over Ran's excited " _Is that him?!_ " and hung up, quickly straightening. His knees cracked in protest, which made Kaito's mouth twitch upwards and Shinichi wince.

"Sorry, my friend heard about the incident and wanted to check up on me." Kaito hummed and started towards the end of the hall, Shinichi following after he checked in on the doctor (who was still grunting to himself in the room but otherwise seemed unperturbed by their departure).

"That's why you text them on the way to the emergency room and stress that you're injured and in pain but don't want to be bothered. That's what I did." Shinichi wrinkled his nose.

"Somehow, I don't think my friend would've been pleased with that. She tends to get twitchy when I'm in near death situations."

Kaito shot him a disturbed look before he appeared to make peace with himself.

"I'm not going to touch that," he announced and continued to saunter down the way. Shinichi followed in a less hip-swaying manner, inspecting Kaito as surreptitiously as he could. Aside from the forehead injury, Kaito seemed to have sorted himself out, returning to his usual demeanor. They were halfway to the elevator when Kaito asked, "How would you feel about dinner, darling? I know a great Italian place that's not far from here."

Shinichi ignored the _darling_ in favor of narrowing his eyes at him.

"We almost died tonight, and you think it's a good time to go out to dinner?"

"No better time, if you ask me. Maybe tonight can still end like I was hoping," Kaito replied with a wholly unnecessary wink. Shinichi tried to push down the warmth that gathered in his stomach as the elevator dinged and they stepped inside.

* * *

 **Sidenote: My ~artistic vision~ for the car insurance ad was inspired by that one ending with Shinichi lying in a meadow with cherry blossoms (ending 37, I think?).**

 **Anyway, hope you're still enjoying this story (if you are, please consider dropping me a review :D) and I'll see you all soon! - Luna**


	4. day four

_The end is drawing near! One more chapter after this. - Luna_

* * *

 **day four.**

* * *

Shinichi was deep in the middle of a dream about making banana pancakes on a Sunday morning. He was in his kitchen, mixing batter and waiting for the skillet to heat, while Kaito sat at the breakfast bar in embossed silk pajamas, complaining about being tossed over for Suzuhara for the lead role in a new drama about a family of lemurs. Shinichi nodded along, apparently also adamant that Kaito would play a much better lemur father.

He was pulled from the task of flipping pancakes and badmouthing casting directors by the sound of his phone shrilling beside his ear. With a strangled groan, Shinichi reached for his nightstand, winced as the cut on his bicep twinged, and eventually fumbled the phone to his ear, mashing the _ACCEPT_ button as he went.

"Kudou," he mumbled into the receiver. There was the sound of quick breathing on the other end of the line. Shinichi was about to hang up when the person finally spoke.

"Shin-chan?"

It was Himari, sounding hesitant and also terrified. Shinichi, eyes half-shut, struggled into a seated position. He didn't remember giving her his number. It must've been Miho or Kaito.

"Watanabe-san?" he responded, hoping he didn't sound too confused. "What's going on?" A glance at his alarm clock revealed that it was only a little past six. His frown deepened. Why would Himari, notorious for being late, be awake this early?

"It's—I already called the emergency number. The police, I mean. I just—I thought I—I wanted—" Himari inhaled sharply. Shinichi could practically hear her creeping towards the hyperventilation.

"Take a deep breath. Nice and slow," he soothed as he struggled out of bed and reached for the nearest pair of clean suit pants he could find, which was more difficult that it should've been. He really needed to do the laundry. Over the line, Himari was fighting to inhale and exhale at a steady pace. Shinichi waited for the rhythm to level out before he asked, "What's going on? What happened?"

"I—" Himari choked on a sob. "I—there's a body."

Shinichi froze.

"Say that again?" he asked. His voice sounded distant and distorted, as if he were hearing it from underwater. He could feel his heartbeat pounding behind his eyes. Himari swallowed hard, audibly composing herself.

"I got to the studio," she said, voice shaking, "and I found a dead body."

* * *

Kaito's dressing room was the same as it had always been: high, cream-colored ceilings, disorganized racks of clothes up against one wall, the counter covered in assorted containers of makeup, soft music filtering through the sound system. Nothing would have been amiss, if not for the body of Hamasaki Chiyo, age twenty-four, lying in a pool of congealed blood beside the vanity. She was facing the ceiling, dark eyes wide and unseeing, a thick, dark line across the front of her throat, her limbs held away from her body.

Forensics officers were swarming the surrounding areas, flagging possible clues, though there were none that immediately called to Shinichi. Tome, who had been the officer on duty when the call had come through, was in the process of inspecting the cut at the victim's throat when Shinichi made his way past the curious interns and other people crowded around the door. He sighed and looked up at Shinichi.

"It's the same knife. I can tell just by looking. The incision's always got a small entry point that goes deep into the throat before the blade is pulled across. Most other knife cuts aren't quite so forcibly executed—they tend to use a longer entry point, for one," he told Shinichi in quiet tones. "Judging from the bloodstains and patterning, she wasn't moved post-mortem. This is the scene of the crime." Shinichi nodded, swallowing.

"What would you say the time of death is?"

Tome paused, pressing his lips together as he stared down at the body with consideration.

"Judging from the state of the body, I'm guessing maybe about ten hours ago or thereabouts? Probably around eight or nine, if I had to put a number to it. We'll know more after the autopsy, of course." Two more forensics officers had arrived, weaving through the crowd with a stretcher held between them. Shinichi and Tome both stepped aside, giving them space to heft the body onto the stretcher. The arm flopped over the side in a grotesque way that made Shinichi wince and turn back towards Tome.

"Anything about the scene that stands out as odd?" he asked. Tome hesitated.

"Nothing huge," he hedged. "But we did find some strange bits of glass by the counter. It might just be left over from something unrelated to the case, though." Shinichi nodded before he glanced around. Himari didn't seem to be around.

"Where's Watanabe-san? The first discover, I mean?" he asked in an undertone. Tome motioned at the hallway.

"She's in the room next door, I think. She's probably calmed down some by now, but when we first got here, she was panicking quite a bit." He gave Shinichi a significant look. "Seeing a familiar face might calm her down. Just be gentle with her. She's rattled."

"Understood." Shinichi gave Tome a last nod before he left the room, pushing past the growing crowd. The door to the left yielded a darkened, bare room, possibly used as storage, but the door on the right gave way to reveal another dressing room, outfitted with the same vanity as Kaito's, and Himari, eyes swollen and red, arms hugging her knees to her chest, sitting on a leather couch and rocking back and forth. She looked up when she heard the door open, and the sheer relief on her face was mindblowing.

"Shin-chan," she croaked, spreading her arms, and Shinichi made his way over to wrap her up in a hug that was only about twelve percent awkward. She sniffled against his shoulder for a long few minutes, leaving a wet spot in his suit jacket as she pulled back. All her eye makeup had streaked down her face from her nonstop crying, leaving her cheeks smeared with washed-out colors and salty tear trails, and her lips looked red and bitten, as if she'd been chewing on them. "Shin-chan, I was so scared. I—I just opened the door and turned on the lights and—and Chiyo-chan was there."

"Right." Shinichi took a seat beside her on the sofa. He put a hand on her ankle, trying for reassuring. "You knew Hamasaki-san?"

"Yeah." Himari gulped and rubbed at her face. "Uh, yeah. Chiyo-chan is—was—she was an intern here. She was assigned to Suzuhara-kun, actually. She was really sweet." Her voice broke. "She was so nice and innocent and—I can't—"

"Hamasaki-san worked here, you said?" Shinichi asked, squeezing lightly at her foot. Himari nodded, struggling to get her breathing under control.

"Yeah," she gasped out. "I used to see her all the time. We used to hang out. I can't believe she's g-gone now. Just like that." Himari's eyes were wide and imploring when she managed to meet Shinichi's, hiccupping softly as she looked at him. "Who would want to kill her?" Shinichi smiled at her as gently as he could manage. That _was_ the question, wasn't it.

"I can't tell you that for certain," he answered, leaning forward. "Would you say that Hamasaki-san was a fan of Kaito-san's?"

Himari's brow furrowed.

"No, I don't think she was," she said slowly. "I think her favorite celebrity was Okino Yoko. She never really cared for Kai-chan, I think, otherwise she would've probably tried to intern for Miho-san instead of Suzuhara-kun's manager. I don't think she was a big fan of Suzuhara-kun either, actually. But she liked him well enough, I think. She never complained about him or anything like that."

Shinichi sat back, running a hand over his chin as he thought. Hamasaki Chiyo hadn't been a fan of Kaito's, and she hadn't been moved to a different location after her death, and she'd been found in Kaito's dressing room, and she'd been killed with the unique, still-missing knife that identified the killer. There was only one real conclusion he could come to. But if that was the case, there was still something missing…

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a knock on the door, and both he and Himari looked up just in time to see Miho pause in the doorway before she broke into a run, hurrying soundlessly across the room to pull Himari into her arms. Kaito was right behind her, the sutures in his forehead standing out against the paleness of his face and his hair even more of a mess than usual. His shirt was on backwards. When his gaze landed on Shinichi, his whole face seemed to crumble.

"I," he began, before he clamped his mouth shut and stalked across the room to Shinichi, and Shinichi felt a deep wrenching feeling behind his ribcage.

"Not your fault," he murmured when Kaito got into hearing range, and Kaito nodded once, sharp, a muscle in his jaw twitching. At his sides, his hands were clenched into fists. Shinichi stared up into his face and wondered how less than twenty-four hours ago, his biggest worry had been trying to get Kaito's signature for Matsumoto while retaining his dignity, and less than twelve hours ago, he'd been arguing with Kaito about the most memorable Ghibli movie over plates of risotto and carbonara. Now, the body count had crept higher, the murderer was becoming more and more painfully clear, and Shinichi was almost certain there would be another attempt on his life.

He cast a look at Kaito, whose eyes were squeezed shut, and took a deep breath.

"I know this is a hard time for all of us," he began, "but I will need to talk to each of you privately, just for a few questions about your alibis." Himari sat bolt upright, Miho pulling back a few steps to give her space.

"You can't possibly think that any of us—that any of us killed Chiyo-chan, can you?" Himari's voice cracked. She looked suddenly very young and very scared. Kaito had opened his eyes and was now regarding Shinichi with his mouth drawn tight. "Shin-chan, are you saying that we're—we're _suspects_?" Her expression turned angry. "None of us would've hurt Chiyo-chan!"

"It's not that," Shinichi said after a short pause. Miho's gaze was beginning to frost over. "This is a police investigation that I'm heading, in case you've all forgotten why I've been around. I'm here to find a serial killer, not make friends." He avoided Kaito's eyes, which were burning into the side of his face. "I'm going to need to talk with anyone who has any connection to the victim or the scene of the crime, just to learn more about the situation, and that means all of you." When none of their faces cleared—Himari's, in fact, grew darker—Shinichi bite back a groan. "I'm not trying to say that—"

"Himari-san!" Shinichi (and his audience) startled at the sound of a voice, peering over at the doorway, where Suzuhara was now standing. He was breathing hard, face red, and he avoided Shinichi's eyes as he hurried across the room to the couch that Himari was sitting on. Miho moved aside obligingly as he dropped into the spot beside her. "I heard—I heard about Hamasaki-chan, which is a-awful, of course, but—but are you okay?"

Himari's mouth twisted before she let out a wail and buried her face in Suzuhara's chest. Suzuhara froze, blinking rapidly, before he settled his hands on her back, running them soothingly up and down her spine and murmuring into her ear. Shinichi got the impression that they would be occupied for a while longer.

"All right, then." He peered at Kaito, then Miho. "It looks like one of you will have to be first." Kaito shared an unreadable look with Miho before he avoided meeting Shinichi's eyes, instead focusing on Shinichi's cheekbone, traces of a wry smile pulling at his mouth.

"I'll go first," he murmured under the sound of Himari sobbing. Shinichi nodded and motioned him to the far side of the room, far enough that the others wouldn't overhear. Kaito followed him in subdued silence, leaning against the wall. He went to drag a hand through his hair, laughing a little when it got stuck an inch from the crown of his head, and disentangled his fingers.

"I didn't know her," he said before Shinichi starting asking. "I think I saw her around maybe once or twice, but I never talked to her. She wasn't a fan of mine, I don't think. She never so much as asked for an autograph. I don't know why she—she wasn't like the other victims. She didn't even like me." He was back to not looking directly into Shinichi's face, staring at the floor with intensity that the tile didn't warrant.

Shinichi, at a loss, reached out and picked up one of Kaito's hands, cradling it with both of his. Kaito's hands were bigger than his, broader in the palms, not as fine-boned. There was a scar across the pad of his index finger stretching from the tip to the bend of the first knuckle.

"I know, Kaito," he mumbled, oddly off-balanced. He ran a finger across Kaito's heartline, which swooped downward before tapering to an end near the base of his index finger. Inanely, he wondered what it meant in palmistry. "And it's not _your_ fault, whatever you're thinking."

He may have put too much emphasis on the _your_ , because when he finally looked back up, Kaito was watching him. His expression was confused and concerned, all at once. After a minute of searching Shinichi's eyes, Kaito opened his mouth, tilted his head to one side, before he curled his fingers around Shinichi's.

"You're blaming yourself." Kaito took a step closer, and that was all the warning Shinichi got before he was tugged forward into Kaito's arms. He found himself enveloped in the gentlest hug he had ever experienced, Kaito cradling him as if he were something marked _FRAGILE, THIS WAY UP_. Kaito seemed to have skipped the cologne today in his rush to get to the station, because he didn't smell like citrus or cinnamon; he smelled like skin and familiarity. Shinichi bent to press his nose into Kaito's shoulder and took a shaky inhale.

"I'm one heading the investigation. I should've—I should've thought to station officers here, or—or done something—" he mumbled, muffled. His eyes stung, awkwardly enough. Kaito made soft shushing noises, petting his hair in a way that would've embarrassed Shinichi at any other time.

"There was no way you could've known that someone would be killed here. Both of the other times, it was places from my past, not places that are currently part of my life. And anyway, you couldn't have known who the victim would be, because she doesn't fit the profile." Kaito's voice was firm. Shinichi, trying to sniffle subtly, pulled back to give him a disbelieving look.

"You're trying to use logic on me," he accused, eyes narrowed. Kaito smiled, though it was far from his normal incandescence.

"Is it working?"

Shinichi sighed and dropped his forehead against Kaito's collarbone.

"Yeah," he admitted, though it was equal parts Kaito's reasoning and the fact that a large part of him wanted to believe anything Kaito told him, especially pressed this close together. He took a deep breath, exhaled, and pulled away. Kaito let him go, though his gaze didn't leave Shinichi's face. Shinichi cleared his throat, suddenly and stupidly bashful. He hoped his eyes weren't too shiny. "Um. Thanks for that."

"Hey, you didn't let me blame myself for the chandelier thing, so I had to return the favor." Kaito stretched one hand out then dropped it back to his side with a strange, abortive movement. Shinichi was almost sure he had been about to touch Shinichi's cheek. "Are you sure you're okay, darling?"

"I'm fine, just—I'm okay," insisted Shinichi, waving him off before he assumed his most inspectorly face. The look on Kaito's face told him that he wasn't doing the greatest job of it. "I don't really have to ask you about your alibi around eight or nine last night, do I?"

Something—everything—in Kaito's face softened.

"Eight, Inspector? I was at a restaurant in Ekoda, educating this incredibly gorgeous young man about how _Spirited Away_ is the definitive Ghibli movie," he said, smirking. Shinichi scowled.

"Excuse me, does the Ghibli logo have No-Face in it? No, it has Totoro, which is why _My Neighbor Totoro_ should be considered the most iconic Ghibli movie," he started before he realized Kaito was laughing at him from behind his hands and deflated with a scowl. He poked Kaito in the center of the chest, shaking his head as he began to turn away. "You say that I'm good at handling you, but here you are, managing me like you've known me forever."

Kaito caught his hand before he finished turning. When Shinichi twisted to look at him, his face had gone serious again.

"Shinichi, I have to say that I really don't feel like any of them could've done it. None of them, not even him"—he motioned at Suzuhara—"could do something like this. They're not that kind of people." His eyebrows pulled together, almost pleading. The back of Shinichi's throat seemed swollen shut, all of a sudden. He forced himself to swallow and tug his hand free.

"I know," he replied, which wasn't a response at all, and went to pull Miho aside.

Miho looked relatively the same, save for a hair or two sticking out of her bun, which Shinichi expected was her version of disheveled. She was looking up at him with cool, unreadable eyes when they came to a stop in the corner.

"Before we start, Inspector," she said without waiting for Shinichi to speak, "I want to say that you need to be more careful with Watanabe-san right now. She's clearly traumatized, and your comments about treating us like suspects? Not helping in the slightest."

"I understand, Motoyama-san. I'll keep that in mind." Shinichi nodded before he crossed his arm over his chest. "You know, a few days ago, when I wanted to get your statement, you weren't around. Why was that?" Miho met his gaze head-on.

"I didn't mean to stand you up, but Tachibana-san from the agency wished to meet with me, and as he is still my employer, I couldn't exactly turn him down. Kuroba-san was still around to tell you where I'd gone, wasn't he?"

"Yes, he was," agreed Shinichi, thoughtful. "You say _still_ your employer, as if that won't be true for long. Do you have plans of changing employers in the future?"

"Kuroba-san and I are planning to leave the agency, because Tachibana-san isn't prioritizing Kuroba-san the way he should be, considering Kuroba-san's accomplishments and level of acclaim. We were trying to keep it quiet until the contract expires, but Tachibana-san somehow figured it out, probably months ago. He wanted to negotiate with me, and when I wouldn't give in, he became angry and began to insult Kuroba-san and his work." Miho frowned. "I was surprised by many of the things he said. I hadn't known he'd felt that way about Kuroba-san."

"I see." Shinichi cleared his throat. "Well, now that that's cleared up, let's talk about yesterday. I would appreciate it if you told me where you were and what you were doing from around noon to midnight, if you could." When Miho looked at him inquisitively, he offered her a reassuring smile. "The time of death isn't clear yet, since the autopsy hasn't been completed yet, so I expanded the timeframe to include a wider period of time, as it were."

"Understood." Miho paused, pressing her lips together. "Around noon, I suppose I was at the lot where Kuroba-san was shooting. You were there too." Shinichi nodded, and she continued, "The photoshoot ended around one-fifteen, one-thirty, as I'm sure you'll recall. Afterwards, I had lunch with Watanabe-san and Suzuhara-san until maybe three. Oh, we were at a little café near the studio—it's called Wildflower or something of the sort. And after that, I went back to the agency office to look over some booking options for Kuroba-san. Then around six, I headed back to my apartment and spent the rest of the evening relaxing." She read something from Shinichi's face and added, "I live alone, so there isn't anyone who can verify that."

"All right." Shinichi gave her a last long look. "If that's all…"

"Yes, I believe—oh!" With a start, Miho reached into her bag and pulled out a large manila envelope, which she extended towards Shinichi. "After Kuroba-san's shoot, I went back to his dressing room with Watanabe-san and found this on the counter, underneath some clutter. It's addressed to you." She turned it over so Shinichi could see the front, which indeed said _TO KUDOU SHINICHI_ on it in bold lettering. "I think you had already left with Kuroba-san at that point, so I thought I would keep it until I could give it to you in person."

Shinichi took it with a frown. It seemed unusually puffy, and the flap had been sealed down with both glue and tape. If it had been found after the shoot had ended… He set it on the makeup table beside him and flashed a smile at Miho.

"Thank you, Motoyama-san. I think we're good for now." Miho nodded and moved to return to the sofa. She lingered for a moment, giving him a considering look.

"Inspector, please try to catch the killer soon." She glanced over at where Himari, Suzuhara, and Kaito were huddled around the couch. "I don't like seeing everyone like this."

"Of course," Shinichi answered after a moment, and Miho nodded once before she returned to the couch, Shinichi on her heels.

Neither Suzuhara nor Himari, now disentangled and more composed, looked particularly enthusiastic about going next, straightening to give him twin looks of distrust when Shinichi stopped in front of them and raised his eyebrows meaningfully. Himari shrank back into the cushions, rubbing at her cheeks.

"Do we have to do them separately?" she asked. She frowned when she pulled her hands away from her face to find them smeared with makeup. "I'd rather just do it with Suzuhara-kun around." Her expression suggested she either wanted him for emotional support or so he could take over her efforts to melt Shinichi with her glare while she was answering his questions. Shinichi paused before he shrugged and sat down on the ground in front of them. Himari looked surprised.

"It's really okay?"

"If you're fine with hearing each other's alibi." Shinichi glanced at Miho and Kaito, who took their cue to abandon the couch and go to hover beside the vanity. He looked at the two of them consideringly. "Look. I know before, I may have offended you by implying that any one of you is the killer. That wasn't my intent." He met Himari's gaze head on. "I need you all to remember that I'm here to do my job, which is head this investigation and bring a three-time murderer to justice. That means that gathering intelligence on where everyone was and wasn't at the time of the murder is crucial, especially if there's a nonzero chance that the killer is among us. This isn't an accusation." He paused. "I don't want there to be any hard feelings." Himari's face softened.

"Aw, Shin-chan cares," she said, which hadn't been Shinichi's point, but he'd take it. He smiled and reached out to rub her knee gently.

"So. Starting from Watanabe-san: where were you from noon to midnight yesterday?"

"Oh, uh, from noon?" Himari blinked, clearly wondering why he was inquiring about hours before the supposed time of death, but she didn't question it. "I was with you, watching Kai-chan's photoshoot, until maybe one-thirty-ish? Then Suzuhara-kun, Miho-san, and I all went out to lunch at this little café down the street. We finished around three. Then I went shopping with a friend until maybe seven-ish? We were at the Haido Shopping Center. I have, like, receipts and stuff if you want them." Shinichi nodded, and Himari settled back into her seat. "Okay, I can get them later. And then after that I got a crepe and went home. I was probably back home by seven-thirty?"

"Do you live with anyone?" Shinichi asked. Himari shook her head.

"No, just my cat." A flicker of her usual humor returned. "And she can't really verify my alibi, I guess."

"All right. I'll need your friend's name and number along with those receipts, when you can manage them." Shinichi paused, trying to think of a delicate way to phrase his next question. "Watanabe-san, you're usually known for being late, correct?"

"Yeah," agreed Himari in a tone that stated she wasn't sure where he was going with it.

"So why did you choose to come to the station so early today? At six o'clock, there probably isn't anyone around who needs hair or makeup, correct?" Himari's face went white before she forced a smile.

"Uh, that… I was just… I had some organizing I wanted to do, and my makeup stuff is kept at the studio, usually," she answered slowly, gaze focused on something just past Shinichi's left ear. "That was all. Yeah." Shinichi studied her. She was twisting her skirt in her hands and biting at her bottom lip. Maybe it was just him, but she seemed to be clenching her jaw.

"Makes sense," was all he said, though, and he redirected his attention to Suzuhara. Himari audibly swallowed back a sigh of relief.

Suzuhara, on the other hand, looked as if someone had pressed a block of ice to the back of his neck, jumping when Shinichi raised his eyebrows at him. "Your turn, Suzuhara-san. Tell me about your relationship with Hamasaki-san. I heard she was your assistant."

"Oh. Uh, yeah, Hamasaki-chan was assigned to me by my agency to help manage my schedule and run any errands that I needed her to. We were friends, kind of. She wasn't hugely interested in actors or celebrities, so she wasn't all that interested in me. But we got along fairly well." Suzuhara swallowed. "Um, she'd only been working with me for a few months. Maybe about four?"

"Right." Shinichi made a mental note. "Moving on, then. From noon to midnight yesterday, what were you doing?"

"I was thinking about this earlier, but why do we have to start from noon?" Suzuhara looked confused—and uncomfortable, Shinichi realized when he shifted, crossing his legs and looking down at the grain of his jeans. "Isn't that a little, uh, early? Why do you need to know about that?"

"I don't have an exact time of death yet, so I'm just getting a rough idea of where everyone was yesterday." Shinichi folded his hands together. "So, Suzuhara-san?"

"Around noon, I had to film a part for the next Samonji episode, so I was in one of the studios. And then around one-thirty, I think, I finished filming for the day and went out to lunch with Himari-san and Motoyama-san at some café. We left the restaurant around three, maybe?" he glanced at Himari for confirmation, who nodded. "After that, I met with my agent to talk about what I have scheduled for the next few days. That was at the agency office—uh, I'm with Yamazaki Stars, if you're wondering. I was there until around five, and then my agent and I went out for yakitori until about eight, if I had to put a number to it." Shinichi felt his eyebrows climb.

"Three hours for yakitori?"

"And drinking, afterwards," clarified Suzuhara. "But yeah. That's about it." He coughed. "Uh, will you need my agent's number? To verify everything?"

"I will." Shinichi stared at Suzuhara for a long moment until Suzuhara threw his hands up in the air.

"There's clearly something else you want to know," he groaned. Himari glanced between them, clearly trying to figure out what was going on. "Why don't you just come out and ask instead of looking at me like that?"

Shinichi lifted an eyebrow, unbothered.

"You know what I'm asking about." There was no doubt that Suzuhara was also remembering bumping into Shinichi on his way out of Kaito's dressing room yesterday, when Shinichi had gone to pick up his jacket. Almost without thinking, Shinichi glanced back at where the envelope was lying on the counter and set his jaw.

When Shinichi turned back, he found Suzuhara glowering at him, mouth partway open, before he scoffed, rubbed a hand down his face, and made a low, nervous sound like a dying moose. Himari was looking at him with growing concern, possibly worried for his sanity. Shinichi remained unmoved.

"I just—it was nothing. Nothing related to the case." Suzuhara burrowed back into the couch, looking as if he were trying to become one with the cushion he was sitting on. "Seriously, Shinichi-kun. Nothing to do with the case." His face was reddening at an alarming pace. He looked almost sunburnt.

"What are you talking about, Suzuhara-kun?" Himari demanded, eyeing him with some confusion. Suzuhara sweated visibly, the line of his throat undulating as he gulped, before he clambered to his feet, quickly enough that he jostled Himari.

"I think we're good, right? I'll send my agent's contact info along!" he chirped, and ran out of the room as though someone was chasing him with a chainsaw. Shinichi and Himari watched him go.

"Well, that was weird," Himari remarked, which summed it up pretty well. Shinichi couldn't argue with that.

Kaito took the chance to drift back over, probably taking Suzuhara's departure to mean that the interrogation was over. He put a hand on Shinichi's lower back once he was in reaching distance, a fact that Himari didn't miss, judging from how she immediately started smirking. Shinichi dared her to say something with his eyes.

She must've accepted his dare, because the next thing out of her mouth was, "Aw, you guys are so cute!" Shinichi decided to dare the floor to open up and swallow him, next. Unfortunately, the ground appeared not to be as predisposed to accepting dares as Himari was, because he remained standing and present.

"Aren't we?" Grinning, Kaito curled his arm around Shinichi's waist fully. "Don't you agree, darling?" Shinichi twisted to grimace at him, though he couldn't quite bring himself to push Kaito away.

"I'm not sure if this constitutes as sexual harassment, but I could still sell this story to the tabloids and make a fortune," he muttered. Kaito laughed.

"You wouldn't. You love me too much," he replied, nudging Shinichi's head with his, and that was like a bucket of ice water to Shinichi's nervous system, a shock that made his whole upper body numb. He tugged out of Kaito's grip quickly, focusing on the ground so he wouldn't see whatever expression was now on Kaito's face.

"I'm going to go—talk to the forensics team. See what they found out," he stammered, and beat a hasty and poorly disguised retreat. As he closed the door behind him, he heard Himari ask Kaito, "What is _with_ everyone running out of the room?" and held back a hysterical laugh.

* * *

By the time Shinichi finished talking to forensics—the most accurate time of death was about eight thirty, apparently—Miho and Himari had disappeared and Kaito was alone on the couch, phone in hand and brow creased. He looked up when Shinichi came in, though, and tucked his phone away. Shinichi couldn't decide what his expression meant.

"Sorry about that," he began, somewhat hesitant. "I got a more specific time of death, though. Eight thirty."

"I see," Kaito responded after a minute and stood up, pushing his hands into his pockets. Upon closer inspection, Shinichi realized he was uncertain, of all things, trying to puzzle out where he stood with Shinichi. Understandable, considering Shinichi had run out of the room the last time they'd seen each other. Shinichi took a deep breath.

"There isn't much I can do around here," he said, rolling his shoulders back and forcing himself to lift his chin. "The crime scene is virtually clueless, and the room has so much DNA from people coming and going that it's going to take forensics a while longer to sift through it all for someone who shouldn't be there." He rubbed at the back of his neck. Kaito nodded.

"I, ah, gave them a cheek swab, earlier, on the way past." He offered Shinichi a smile, something short and uneasy. Shinichi bobbed his head like a crazed bird.

"So until then… do you want to get coffee?" When Kaito's eyebrows jerked upwards, he hastily tacked on, "I have to check out the café that Watanabe-san, Motoyama-san, and Suzuhara-san said they had lunch at, anyway, and if you're free, I just thought that maybe you'd like to come with me—"

"Shinichi," interrupted Kaito, for which Shinichi was grateful, because any longer and the babbling would've just gotten downright humiliating, if it hadn't already. He was beaming, too, which Shinichi also appreciated, though more because the sight never failed to spark warmth within his ribcage. "I'd love to get coffee with you." Shinichi gaped at him for a moment, the picture of intelligence and quick wit, before he snapped his mouth shut, not trusting himself to say something normal, and just nodded.

Kaito was shaking his head to himself as he put a hand on Shinichi's shoulder and steered him down the hall, past the crime scene tape and into the lobby. He was still smiling, though, so Shinichi wasn't too worried, at least until he opened his mouth.

"You know, darling," he remarked conversationally, holding the door for Shinichi and ignoring Shinichi's glare, "you're really quite adorable."

Shinichi tripped over nothing and nearly faceplanted into a hedge. The only thing that saved him from a mouth full of aphid-encrusted leaves was Kaito's reflexes, because Kaito lunged out to grab him around the elbow and help him reclaim his balance. Kaito looked far too pleased with himself. Shinichi gave him a disgusted look.

"Don't look so proud of yourself," he muttered as they reached the sidewalk. He only realized Kaito was still holding his arm when a woman wearing fashionable-looking thigh-high boots stared as she strutted past. "And let go of my arm, unless you want pictures of this all over social media. People are looking." Kaito pouted, dropping his arm.

"What if I want to show you off?"

Squinting, Shinichi eyed him with distrust.

"I can show myself off on my own, thanks?" he answered, and Kaito sighed.

"You really can, Shinichi," he agreed, sounding almost sad about it before his expression turned thoughtful. "Seriously, though, how do you not have a harem following you around? Or at least an army of very determined exes trying to win you back?" Shinichi wondered what he would think if he knew that Shinichi had precisely two exes—Ran, who was still his best friend, and a guy from the Tokyo bomb squad who'd transferred to Hokkaido after they broke up—and decided not to enlighten him.

"I'm not comfortable discussing this with you," he informed him, and Kaito made a face but let it go.

They arrived at the café, which was indeed named Wildflower, according to the hanging sign blowing in the breeze. It was a small place, with round tables arranged in the front and only a few booths visible on the inside. The restaurant's overall theme seemed to be—unsurprisingly—wildflowers, paired with nature and inhumanely bright colors. Shinichi had to shield his eyes against the intensity of the bright yellow storefront overhang on the way in.

The girl behind the counter, who was chewing gum and staring at her phone as if it held the secrets of the universe within its circuitry, barely glanced up when they came in. She looked unimpressed at the sight of Kaito, which meant she was probably used to seeing celebrities wandering around the area.

"What can I do for you?" she asked, flicking her tongue against her lip piercing and regarding them with the least amount of interest she could get away with while staying technically polite. Shinichi dug around in his pockets for a moment before he came up with his badge, which he presented to the girl, who blew a bubble with her gum and looked otherwise unmoved.

"Oh, yes. I'm actually Inspector Kudou Shinichi of the homicide division, investigating a murder case that occurred nearby." A hint of interest flickered across the girl's otherwise apathetic face.

"Is that why there were so many police cars around? Someone died?"

"Yes." Shinichi tucked his wallet away. "Could I have a moment of your time to confirm some alibis? That is, if you were working yesterday afternoon, from around one to three?" The girl shrugged and snapped her gum.

"Yeah, I was here." She made a face that Shinichi interpreted as _Not like I have anywhere better to be_. "Whose alibis are you checking?"

"Are the names Suzuhara Akio, Watanabe Himari, and Motoyama Miho familiar?" asked Shinichi. "The three of them claim that they ate lunch here from roughly one-thirty to three o'clock."

The girl thought for a moment.

"Do you mean the guy from _Detective Samonji_ , the manic pixie dream girl, and the hot glasses chick?" she offered. Shinichi paused. He shared a look with Kaito, who was nodding.

"Yeah, that's them," Kaito agreed. Shinichi made a face but nodded when the girl raised her eyebrows at him.

"In that case, yeah, they totally were here yesterday afternoon. Probably from one-thirty to three, like you said." She sat back, crossing her arms over her chest. "I can get you receipts and stuff if you need them, maybe?"

"No, that won't be necessary," Shinichi assured her. He'd expected as much.

"Suit yourself." The girl eyed them with speculation. "Did you two want to actually order anything, or…?"

"Oh, uh…" Shinichi looked at the blackboard menu suspended over the row of coffeemakers, narrowing his eyes at the selection. There was an overabundance of options, most of which seemed to contain large amounts of sugar and syrup. He searched in vain for something not sweet and not topped off with whipped cream.

"We'll have a large iced caramel macchiato and a large black iced coffee," Kaito ordered before Shinichi could decide. Shinichi glowered as the girl nodded and rang them up. He planted an elbow in Kaito's side, making him flinch and spill his change all over the counter with a loud clatter. The girl stared for a second before she handed him his receipt and shuffled over to the coffeemakers.

"That was uncalled for, darling," managed Kaito, twisting to frown at him even as he clutched at his side and sagged against the counter, face scrunched up. Shinichi raised his eyebrows, unrepentant.

"Don't order for me," he retorted before he turned on his heel and started for the nearest booth. "That's a little too presumptuous, even for you." Kaito shrugged, tossing coins into his wallet and following.

"I could tell from your face that you were trying to find something that doesn't contain eight pumps of caramel syrup, so I just sped up the process a little bit. And don't tell me you don't want black coffee." He slid into the spot by the wall and gestured for Shinichi to scoot in beside him, which Shinichi did, with a scowl and the fleeting feeling that his dignity was mostly gone at this point. "And anyway, I know you and your caffeine addiction well enough by now to tell when you're lying to salvage your pride." Shinichi's tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. He spent a second giving Kaito a disgruntled look before he decided to let it pass.

"I'm paying you back for mine, at least," he felt the need to add, though. Kaito smiled indulgently, patting Shinichi on the hand. The patting turned into more of a holding, though, when he laced his fingers though Shinichi's and made no attempt to move.

"Sure you will," he said in a voice that meant Shinichi would do no such thing. Shinichi tried to be annoyed, but it was hard when Kaito was smirking at him like that.

"For some reason, I feel like you're lying to me for some reason," he remarked. Kaito shrugged, innocent as a vanilla cupcake, and beamed at Shinichi. One of his fingers ran across Shinichi's knuckles lightly enough that Shinichi twitched as his nerves spluttered to a stop and had to take a minute to reorganize his thoughts.

"So," Shinichi began, clearing his throat. "I, uh… I actually wanted to talk to you about the case." Kaito's eyebrows lowered, his smile fading, and Shinichi instantly felt bad about it. "Not to interrogate you more or anything like that. I just—usually I have another officer around to bounce ideas off of. I was thinking it might be nice to share some deductions and see if you have anything to add. Something like that?"

"Right," answered Kaito, looking as if he were psyching himself up for it. He hadn't let go of Shinichi's hand yet, though, which Shinichi took as a good sign. "Okay. Go ahead."

Shinichi opened his mouth, but it was at that moment that the girl approached them with their coffees, Shinichi's black as promised and Kaito's looking as if it overfulfilled a normal person's daily sugar intake by about three hundred grams. She set them down on the table, glanced down at their hands, and snickered in a manner vaguely reminiscent of Himari before she sauntered off. Shinichi hoped fervently that she didn't have an Instagram.

"We're still unsure if the person who dropped the chandelier is the same person as the killer," he began, turning back to Kaito as he took a sip of his coffee. "According to an analysis done on the chain that held the chandelier up, one of the links was twisted out of place so that the whole thing would fall. It's unclear when it was done—hours before the show, maybe—and when the culprit expected the chandelier to fall, but the possibility that it was actually intended to hit you is there. Who knows. It could be completely unrelated to the case, even." Kaito grimaced and stirred whipped cream into his macchiato.

"Technically, it's also possible that the killer is an outsider, as in someone who's not close by," continued Shinichi, and that made Kaito look up in surprise. Shinichi shrugged. "If you haven't noticed, the receptionist in the lobby of the TV station is often missing or not paying attention who comes and goes, which makes sense because such a large volume of people exit and enter the building at all times. It's nearly impossible to keep track of everyone. So the possibility is still there." Shinichi wasn't sure how likely it was, but Kaito seemed to relax.

"There's another question that hasn't been answered yet," Shinichi remarked, leaning on his free hand. "Hamasaki-san was killed in your dressing room. She hadn't been moved. The chance that someone would've noticed if the killer dragging an unconscious or struggling woman through the hallway is fairly high, which means that Hamasaki-san must've gone to your room of her own volition, for some reason. That reason is still up in the air." He hummed thoughtfully, watching ice cubes clink in his glass.

Kaito, who had been silent, laughed a little and traced a pattern in the condensation on his cup.

"So this is what you're like when you're being a real investigator." He grinned when Shinichi cast him a dubious look. "You have all these deductions and logic and theories and things. It's really hot."

In all his years of living, Shinichi had never been called "hot" for his deductive reasoning skills, not even by the bomb squad guy he'd dated, and that guy had had a competence kink a mile wide. The novelty of the compliment was probably what made him flush red all over. He suddenly wanted to dump his iced coffee over the top of his own head, just to cool off a little.

"Don't say things like that," he grumbled, yanking out of Kaito's grip so he could bury his burning face in his hands. Kaito laughed, delighted, and put a hand on the back of his head, rubbing his thumb over Shinichi's pulse point. Shinichi fought back a shiver, which didn't go unnoticed by Kaito, who was probably reaching intolerable levels of self-congratulation.

"Not even if they're true?" Kaito asked slyly, and Shinichi dropped his forehead to the table and refused to look him in the eye for a good five minutes.

He was just lifting his face off the tabletop, glaring in response to Kaito's shit-eating grin, when Miho, of all people, blazed through the doors to the café with a clang, starting the girl behind the counter into dropping her phone (which, Shinichi noted, had been suspiciously angled towards them). With a deep, wrinkle-inducing scowl, Miho zeroed in on Kaito's face and stormed over, looking ready to smack him over the head with her bag.

"Kuroba-san, did you _somehow_ manage to forget about filming? I've been looking all over for you because you wouldn't answer your damn phone," she snapped. Kaito looked terrified. Shinichi could relate. "The difficult situation doesn't mean that you're not supposed to filming the next Heartline episode at eight-thirty." She glared at Shinichi until Shinichi jumped and frantically made to exit the booth and let Kaito out. In his haste, though, his arm knocked into his coffee, and as if seeing it in slow motion, he watched as his cup tipped over and splashed coffee all over the side of Miho's bag.

All three of them stared in silent horror. The girl behind the counter looked as if she were having trouble keeping her eyebrows from flying off her forehead. Coffee dripped down the side of Miho's purse, accusing.

"I am so, so sorry," Shinichi finally managed, in a small voice. That seemed to launch Miho into action, because she pulled her bag off and began rummaging through it with quick, efficient movements. She pulled out a leather-bound book, drying it off hurriedly on her skirt before she flipped it open to inspect the contents. Shinichi caught sight of something yellow between the pages before Miho snapped the book shut and yanked out a thinner notebook that Shinichi recognized as Kaito's appointment book. The pages were filled with tiny, cramped writing and Post-Its. Next was her phone, then a comprehensive collection of professional-grade makeup packed in a sleek leather bag and an assortment of variously-colored pens. She sighed in relief when it appeared all her belongings were relatively safe and angled Shinichi a look so sharp it probably wouldn't make it through airport security.

"At least the bag's black so the stain isn't obvious. It looks as if everything on the inside is fine, but I'll have to get the bag cleaned," she informed him. Shinichi gulped.

"I can get that done," he squeaked. Miho just shook her head at him.

"There are more pressing matters for now," was all she said before she slapped Kaito with a penetrating stare. Shinichi scrambled out of the booth, Kaito following after him. "Let's get going. You need to go to an alternate hair and makeup stylist, since Watanabe-san is not up for working." She turned and stalked out the door. Shinichi, Kaito, and the barista all blinked after her.

"Terrifying," Shinichi muttered, which Kaito cracked a smile at before he patted Shinichi on the shoulder and ran after her, probably trying to minimize the damage. Shinichi sighed and looked down at the spilled coffee. It felt like a metaphor for something.

* * *

Night came, and with it a distinct lack of new clues. The murder weapon still hadn't been identified, the chandelier mystery still hadn't been solved, and why Hamasaki Chiyo had even been in Kaito's dressing room was still frustratingly unclear. Shinichi sighed. He was starting to get thoroughly annoyed. Surveying the crime scene one last time, he nodded at the officer stationed by the door.

"Lock it and stand guard until I get back," he told him, and the man nodded eagerly, two seconds from saluting him. Shinichi recognized him as one of the more newly minted members of the first division. He clapped him on the shoulder. "Good work today."

"Thank you, sir!" the officer chirped, and Shinichi smiled at him before he returned to the dressing room next door.

The envelope marked with his name was still sitting on the counter, untouched. Shinichi picked it up, gritting his teeth as he lifted it by pinching one corner. The package was too heavy and solid to be anything innocuous like glitter, and judging from the horrible grinding sound when he pinched cautiously at the widest part, he had a fairly good idea of what was in it. He'd have to—

"Oh, Shinichi, you're still here?"

Startled, Shinichi jumped nearly a foot and dropped the envelope back on the conter, whirling to find Kaito leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest. He'd changed since Shinichi had last seen him earlier that morning, likely to film the next episode of Heartline, and now he was wearing beat-up jeans and a muscle tee and more foundation than Shinichi personally felt was necessary. He looked like a biker. Shinichi eyed him with concern and also maybe a little interest, because that shirt was doing things for Kaito. Not that he really needed them to.

"You know, I've never seen an episode of Heartline, but I was always pretty sure you didn't play a yakuza member. Guess I was wrong," he commented. Kaito flexed ostentatiously, wiggling his eyebrows, and Shinichi had to look away in secondhand embarrassment and also to avoid getting caught ogling.

"I'm not actually sure what Kenji does for a living, other than read people's palms to predict the future and fall in love with hot girls who inevitably end up dead or hating him," Kaito remarked as he crossed the room, stopping once he was face to face with Shinichi. "I think he's a freelancer? But yeah, for this episode he was working as a mechanic." He grinned. "I'm pretty sure the writers only do it for fanservice."

Shinichi could kind of see why they would. Kaito's biceps were, well. Fanservice fuel, to say the least. With a great effort, he tore his eyes away from Kaito's well-defined stomach and leaned against the vanity, rubbing at the side of his nose.

"I haven't heard anything new since the body was discovered," he mumbled around his hand. "I—I have some ideas, but I still need to get a few things cleared up before I can say that everything's solved. I think I'll need to talk to Suzuhara-san and Watanabe-san, specifically, but that will have to wait until tomorrow…" He trailed off when he felt hands on his shoulders, fingers digging into his trapezius and gouging out knots that he hadn't realized were forming. "Kaito…?"

"You're tense, darling," Kaito said in response. When Shinichi frowned and opened his mouth, he shook his head. "Don't try to deny it. You're stressing out."

"Yeah, because someone _died_ ," Shinichi snapped, but he couldn't deny that Kaito's hands felt nice as they massaged into his shoulders. He let out a relieved, slightly questionable sigh when Kaito's thumbs pushed into the sides of his neck. "Okay, I know you're going to make a joke when I say this, but please don't stop."

Surprisingly, Kaito didn't make an off-color comment. He did offer Shinichi a salacious smirk, though, when Shinichi made a weak, possibly inappropriate sound at the feeling of Kaito kneading at the backs of his shoulders. Shinichi scowled in return, about to say something, but Kaito put a finger to his mouth, winked, and went back to massaging.

After an indeterminable amount of time, the massage wound down. Kaito began rubbing at where he'd been working, smoothing the ache out of Shinichi's skin. Blinking open eyes he hadn't realized he'd closed, Shinichi looked into Kaito's face and nearly stopped breathing. This close, he could feel the warmth in Kaito's eyes bearing down on him, see the absent half-smile that curved Kaito's mouth upwards when their gazes met.

"You know," Kaito began, his voice low, "I forgot to do this earlier." Shinichi was bewildered for half a second before Kaito lifted one hand, fingers curled into a loose fist, and magicked a rose into existence, right beside Shinichi's face. This one was a solid red—a deep, romantic red, the color people wore under their clothes on special occasions, the color artists and pop psychologists alike assigned to passionate ardor. It was unmistakable. It was unambiguous. It made Shinichi's heart sink.

He tore his gaze from the rose to look into Kaito's eyes with a growing sense of dismay, his stomach doing something twisty and acrobatic, his heart pounding with desperation. Kaito was smiling at him with a hint of desperation, expression hopeful and fond.

"Shinichi," he whispered, "you know how I feel about you. I'm not exactly subtle." His free hand came up to cup Shinichi's face, fingertips catching in Shinichi's hair. His eyes dropped to Shinichi's mouth. And oh, God, Shinichi had been dreading this, hoping it wouldn't have to happen ever since the first time he saw that too-affectionate look on Kaito's face.

"Um," he said articulately, and took half a step back. Kaito's face turned slightly quizzical, and Shinichi didn't want to witness this. He hadn't wanted this to happen at all. Taking a deep breath, he forced his mouth to open. "I don't think this is a good idea." Kaito dropped the hand holding the rose, the warmth in his eyes dimming like a candle blown out.

"I know it's not a good time, considering we're in the middle of an investigation that I'm technically a suspect in," he started slowly, eyebrows drawing together in uncertainty, "but after it's all over, I don't see why it"—he motioned between them—"would be a bad idea." Shinichi swallowed against the lump rising at the back of his throat.

"No, I mean," he stammered, and had to start again. "I mean I don't think we're… a good idea." Kaito was blinking quickly. He looked as if someone had tried to convince him the earth was flat.

"I'm—I'm sorry, I think I'm getting the wrong idea." He raked a hand through his hair. "You're saying you're… not interested?" His voice went high with disbelief when he reached the end. "If you're not, you've sort of been, um, giving me mixed signals. Very mixed signals." He was probably thinking about Shinichi holding his hand and going out to dinner with him and calling him by his name and now turning him down, and yeah, Shinichi thought with a stinging feeling of regret, yeah, those would constitute mixed signals.

"I," tried Shinichi. He didn't know what to say. Of _course_ he was interested, but there was just—too much against the idea of being together. Too much in the cons column and not enough in the pros. It would be illogical, irrational, idiotic. "Look. Kuroba-san." He didn't miss the way Kaito recoiled as if he'd been punched in the stomach. "You have to realize that we've only known each other a few days. Less than a week, even. We barely know each other. It's—it's been too little time to say that serious feelings are involved here." He'd known Ran for ten years before they'd dated, even, and that hadn't been enough time to realize they weren't right for each other. How could a few days spent together under semi-extraordinary circumstances compare?

Kaito was looking at him like he'd never seen him before, and not in the awed way he had before, in an unfamiliar, disenchanted way. Shinichi felt something pull taut in his chest.

"Shinichi," said Kaito, pained, as if he'd never been more serious before in his life, "I've been in love with you since the moment I met you." Shinichi flinched.

"See, that's the thing," he replied, eyes so focused on the ground that they began watering, "love at first sight doesn't exist. It's logically impossible. I mean, infatuation at first sight, maybe? Maybe you just liked—maybe you just liked the way I looked, or something like that. But you don't know me well enough to be in love with me." He managed to get "be in love with me" out with minimal verbal fumbling, which he was almost proud of. "We're really different people, you know. Spending a few days together doesn't change that. You're"—he waved his hands, trying to find a word that encompassed all Kaito was—"you. And I'm—"

"Amazing," Kaito finished with unwavering conviction, which only made Shinichi's head and heart throb in two-part harmony as he glanced up at Kaito. "You're amazing, and I do like your face and your voice and your body, but I'm _in_ _love_ with _you_ , even if you think I'm not." Kaito shook his head, stumbling back a few feet. "You know, it would be different if you didn't care about me. Maybe I'd be able to accept that. But you—I can tell you feel something for me."

"Let's not do this," Shinichi got out, nearly pleading. Kaito seemed to sense the advantage.

"Shinichi, you know you feel the same way I do," he murmured. One hand, the one not still clutching the rose, lifted abortively before it dropped back to his side. "You know—"

"I know that I really don't need to be hearing this right now," Shinichi cut in, because if he listened to any more his resolve would melt away like so much sea foam. He inhaled sharply, squeezing his eyes shut, and forced himself to choke out, "I think you should go now. I'll see you tomorrow."

Shinichi wasn't looking at Kaito's face, but in his periphery he saw Kaito's whole body jerk as if he'd been shot in the chest. When Shinichi steeled himself enough to hazard a glance at his face, he found that Kaito's expression was perfectly blank, an indecipherable mask. He couldn't look at it longer than a second, returning his gaze to his shoes.

"Okay," Kaito said from somewhere above his head, flat and free of intonation. "I'll go. See you later, Shinichi."

"Thank you," Shinichi whispered. He didn't look up again until he heard the door shut and Kaito's footsteps fade away down the hall. When he did, he saw that Kaito had left the red rose on the counter beside the envelope, like a parting blow. Shinichi's chest felt strange at the sight.

With a monumental effort, he pulled his phone out of his pocket and dialed the number for the forensics department. Somebody picked up after a few rings.

"Forensics lab. We're about to close down operations for the day, unless there's an emergency," a soft female voice that Shinichi didn't recognize said. "How can I help you?"

"This is Inspector Kudou. I have a few things that I'd like analyzed, if possible. It's fine if you don't get to them until tomorrow." When the woman responded in the affirmative, Shinichi cleared his throat. "There are two things." His gaze dropped to the envelope still sitting on the counter. "One is a fingerprint analysis. That one will take some careful handling. The other thing…" He pressed his lips together. "I'll tell you more when I get there."

* * *

 **Please don't hate Shinichi. He's a sad, emotionally challenged idiot who's just trying to do what he thinks is best.**

 **As always, I hope you enjoyed (if you did, please consider dropping me a review!) and I'll see you all next week with the conclusion of this fic! - Luna**


	5. day five

_Happy Halloween, everyone! Here's the last part. - Luna_

* * *

 **day five.**

* * *

Shinichi trudged up to Kaito's temporary dressing room with misery boiling in his stomach. He hadn't slept well the previous night, lying on his side staring at his alarm clock until nearly two in the morning with the whole thing with Kaito playing on loop in his mind's eye. He felt partially dead as he knocked on the door and let himself in.

Himari was fixing Kaito's hair, chattering on as Kaito fiddled with his phone. Miho was sitting on the couch watching them, her bag a conspicuously different color and style than usual. Shinichi winced and cleared his throat.

"Good morning," he said, trying for a weak smile.

Both Miho and Himari turned to glance at him and offer him varied greetings (Himari smiled and waved; Miho made a point to pull her purse into her lap with a protective glare). Kaito, on the other hand, didn't as much as twitch, remaining intent on whatever he was doing on his phone without bothering to look up. Himari gave him a puzzled look, which he also ignored. Shinichi felt as if someone had kneed him in the stomach.

"Kai-chan, your boyfriend's here," Himari sing-songed and prodded him in the cheek. Shinichi cringed so hard he worried that he'd pulled something. Kaito made a noncommittal noise.

"Not my boyfriend," he replied coolly, and tapped at the screen of his phone hard enough that Shinichi heard the sound of his finger hitting the glass from across the room. It was like a gunshot. Himari's eyebrows skidded up her forehead. She glanced between Shinichi and Kaito with growing unease before she twisted to look at Miho, who was appraising the scene with a visibly rising degree of concern.

"Well, this is awkward," Himari commented after a minute of stony silence. She shook her head as she went back to working handfuls of gel into Kaito's hair. "And just yesterday you were so loved up." She sighed. "I don't understand men and their emotional immaturities."

"Neither do I," muttered Kaito under his breath, lifting his eyebrows pointedly. Shinichi felt overheated all the way up to his ears.

"Anyway," he cut in, trying to pretend he wasn't feeling stupidly and arrogantly hurt—he knew, better than anyone, that he deserved everything Kaito was and wasn't giving him. "Watanabe-san, could I talk to you when…" He glanced at Kaito, faltered at his vacant expression, and finished, timidly, "when you're free?" Himari caught his eye in the mirror and nodded. She was wearing less makeup than usual today, just lipstick and a hint of eyeliner.

"Yeah, sure," she answered, tongue sticking out of her carmine-painted mouth as she worked at a stubborn curl behind Kaito's left ear. "I should be done here in about ten minutes, but then I have to supervise the shoot because Kai-chan's doing a bunch of different looks and I have to restyle him a few more times. Oh, and then he has that midmorning talk show afterwards, so I'll definitely have to fix him up then…" She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. "Uh, how about nine-thirty? We can meet in here."

"That would be fine," agreed Shinichi, relieved, and made to leave the room. He paused, though, with his hand on the doorknob. "Would you happen to know when Suzuhara-san is free, by any chance?"

Himari dropped the bottle of gel she'd been holding, narrowly missing her foot. She turned to give Shinichi a confused look.

"Why… would I know that?" she asked slowly, and Shinichi shrugged.

"I was just asking on the off chance that you did," he replied before he left, closing the door behind him. He stood in the hall for a moment, catching his breath. Faintly, he heard Himari ask, "What was that all about, Kai-chan? Why are you so mad at Shin-chan?" and decided to leave before he heard Kaito's response. It would only depress him.

After he made it back to the lobby, he hesitated for a moment before he started down the hall opposite the one leading to Kaito's. He'd only been down this way once before, one of the first days he'd started coming to the station, but he was fairly certain that one of the doors on the left side of the hall lead to Suzuhara's dressing room.

Standing at the entrance to the corridor, he tried to decide how to go about it—knocking on every door would undoubtedly be an annoyance to anyone inside who wasn't Suzuhara, but otherwise he didn't have much of a choice, as he couldn't remember which room exactly was Suzuhara's—but he was saved when a far door opened and Suzuhara stepped out, thankfully fully dressed this time. He started at the sight of Shinichi, though, before he pasted on a hesitant, questioning smile.

"Insp—Shinichi-kun," he greeted, clearly wondering why Shinichi had sought him out. He shut the door behind him and jogged over. "You're a ways from Kuroba-san, aren't you? Was there something you wanted?"

Shinichi nodded, putting on his most disarming expression.

"Oh, nothing big. I was just wondering if you were free around nine-thirty? In about"—Shinichi glanced down at his watch—"an hour and a half? I have some things I want to go over with you." He studied Suzuhara's face, casual. "Watanabe-san will be there, too."

If he hadn't already been looking at Suzuhara's face, Shinichi might've missed the hint of panic that flickered across his handsome features like a fish darting through shallow rapids. As it was, though, he saw Suzuhara corral himself within an instant and nod nonchalantly, his Hollywood smile firmly intact.

"I think I'll be able to make it. I just have a little errand I need to run, but I should be free at nine-thirty," he said, affecting casual interest. "Where are we meeting?"

"The dressing room beside Kaito's. You know the one." Shinichi gave him one last nod before he waved and started back down the hallway, dodging an intern who scurried past him on the right. "I'll see you there. Remember, nine-thirty." Suzuhara waved back.

"Right. See you later, Shinichi-kun."

An hour and a half. With a sigh, Shinichi pushed through the front doors of the station and headed down the front walk. He probably could manage to get to the police station, pick up and discuss the results of the analyses he'd sent in to the forensics lab, make it back to the studio, and have time left over to agonize over the Kaito situation.

Just what he needed. More time to hate himself.

* * *

Nine-twenty found Shinichi sitting on the couch in the dressing room, rubbing at his forehead and staring unseeingly at the lab report in his hand. He'd had his suspicions, of course, but having them proven true like this was a different story. What was he going to do? Especially when Kaito—

Unexpectedly, the door to the room creaked open, and without thinking, Shinichi looked up just in time to make eye contact with Kaito, who look shocked and also slightly traumatized at the sight of him. Shinichi, for his part, was so startled that he inhaled too quickly and choked on his own saliva, breaking into hacking coughs that had him doubled over.

Wow, Shinichi thought with some revelation, he had never truly realized how embarrassing he was as a person until this very moment.

"You okay?" Kaito asked, sounding more amused than angry, which was a far better sign than Shinichi had let himself hope for. Still making strangled sounds into his elbow, Shinichi hazarded a look up into his face. Kaito was still hovering in the doorway, now watching Shinichi with one eyebrow creeping upwards. He was in a very editorial pair of patched-up jeans and a slouchy beanie with _PUNK_ embroidered across the front in violent red, and he was wearing a pair of round, clear-lensed glasses, which he plucked off his face and began to fidget with when Shinichi continued to stare at him for a solid minute.

"I'm fine," wheezed Shinichi when he had regained the ability to breathe. He cleared his throat a few times. "Uh, I just wasn't expecting you. Sorry."

A heavy silence descended, filing the room like so much poison gas.

"I didn't think you'd be here yet," Kaito admitted after a moment. He shuffled towards the makeup counter to pick up his phone, which he must've left before going to the shoot. "Otherwise… you know." He pocketed his phone before he made for the door, oozing discomfort.

Shinichi bit his lip, fighting down the urge to say something. In the end, he couldn't stop himself from calling, "Wait," just as Kaito reached the door. Coming to a jerky halt, Kaito paused to tilt his face towards Shinichi.

"I," began Shinichi before he took a deep breath. "I don't…" He couldn't figure out how to get the right words unstuck from the back of his throat. He didn't even know what the right words were. The longer he sat there with his mouth open, the more shuttered Kaito's expression turned. With a groan of frustration, Shinichi put his face in his hands.

"I don't want you to hate me," he mumbled, muffled. He would've been worried Kaito hadn't heard him if Kaito's breath hadn't hitched.

"I don't hate you," Kaito murmured, his voice soft. Shinichi peeled his fingers away from his eyes to find that he was looking at Shinichi with a sad, slanting curve to his mouth, eyebrows swept together. "Shinichi, I don't know what you think of me or who you think I am, but I'm in love with you." Shinichi flinched, but Kaito continued without stopping. "For me, that means that I don't start hating you overnight. Even if I think you're making a mistake."

"I'm sorry," Shinichi said helplessly, and Kaito dragged in a breath.

"No, I'm the one in the wrong," he sighed, which wasn't what Shinichi had wanted or expected him to say. He tugged the beanie off his head, revealing the dark sutures still stark against his forehead. "I know I can be—uh—overbearing. After yesterday, I talked to someone about it, and she pointed out that you were right, we've only known each other for a little, and I _was_ moving too fast. I just—I fell really hard for you, is all." He met Shinichi's eyes squarely. "But I'm willing to wait for you to catch up."

Shinichi stared at him for a second, feeling his face doing something strange, before he let out a breathless laugh. Kaito smiled hesitantly.

"Of course that would be your conclusion when faced with me and my hang ups. You want to wait me out?" Shinichi shoveled a hand through his hair. He didn't realize he was smiling dopily until he glanced up and Kaito's expression flashed with pleasant surprise. "You know I'm not going to make it easy."

"I don't want easy; I want Kudou Shinichi," Kaito replied, so unapologetic that Shinichi flushed. The grin he gave Shinichi wasn't exactly the same as it had been yesterday morning, but at least he wasn't refusing to meet Shinichi's eyes like earlier. He moved away from the door, sitting down on the couch beside Shinichi, though he left a respectable amount of space between them. "You're worth the wait, darling."

"And you're an incorrigible flirt," Shinichi retorted, though there was no heat in his voice. Kaito laughed.

"I think you like me like that," he answered, nudging Shinichi's knee with his. His expression clouded when he realized what he'd done. "Hey—is it all right if I…" He huffed in the back of his throat and scraped a bit of hair out of his eyes when Shinichi blinked at him. "How do you want us to act, going forward?"

"I want us to be friends," Shinichi said, hesitating. He didn't want Kaito to stop touching him or holding his hand, but at the same time, that wasn't exactly the behavior of friends, was it? He shot Kaito a tentative look. "The way we've been is fine with me, if you're all right with it." Kaito eyebrowed at him, incredulous.

"You do realize I've been flirting my hardest, right? I don't know if you missed all the roses and ogling, but there's definitely been non-friendly flirting happening here."

Shinichi blushed.

"I know, but." He couldn't quite unglue his tongue enough to admit that he was a horrible, selfish person who wanted Kaito to act like nothing had happened. And what even _did_ he want, if he wanted Kaito to flirt with him but still keep him at a distance? Wasn't he the worst, begging for attention while insisting that he wasn't ready for a relationship? Why were feelings so _hard_?

Kaito seemed to recognize his internal struggle, because he laughed a little, shaking his head.

"You drive a hard bargain, Shinichi."

"I just—" Shinichi began, but he was interrupted by a hesitant knock on the door. A moment later, Suzuhara poked his head into the room, expression going vaguely uncomfortable when he saw the two of them on the couch.

"Uh, we were supposed to meet now, right, Shinichi-kun?" His gaze honed in on Kaito. "Not that I'm not absolutely thrilled to see you, Kuroba-san, but don't you have something to film? I thought you were going to be on that morning show with that blonde lady. _The Wake-Up Call_ or whatever it's called." Kaito shrugged.

"I would, but apparently one of the talk show hosts managed to land a last-minute interview with some American musician guy who's only in Japan until his flight leaves at one—how they did it, I don't know—so I've been pushed over, since I'm just a boring domestic actor. Some staffer ran over from their station to apologize to me and give me a consolatory fruit basket." Kaito eyed him for a moment before he got to his feet, slow and reluctant. "I guess I should go and let you two have your private conversation."

The way he said "private" as if it were a dirty word made Shinichi want to roll his eyes and, in a distant part of his mind, wonder if Kaito was actually still managing to be jealous of Suzuhara. He reached out and caught Kaito's wrist, dropping it quickly when Kaito jerked and whirled to look at him with wide eyes.

"Actually, you might want to stay for this," he said, resolutely avoiding Kaito's eyes. He sensed rather than saw Kaito frown in bemusement, glancing between Suzuhara and Shinichi and blinking quickly.

"Is this the part when you tell me that the whole conversation we just had was a joke to get my hopes up and the truth is that you're actually going to ride off into the sunset with Suzuhara and leave me heartbroken?" he asked cagily.

Shinichi stared at him, suddenly sure that he had been dropped on his head as a child. Suzuhara looked as though he were feeling similar sentiments.

"No," Shinichi answered, the _you idiot_ going implied. "You were there when I asked Watanabe-san to come here at nine-thirty, weren't you?" He paused. "Where is Watanabe-san, by the way?" Kaito shrugged.

"I don't know. After she styled this last outfit," he gestured down at what he was wearing, "she disappeared. I think she got a call or something? She didn't tell me what was going on before she left, at least." Shinichi frowned.

"Well, okay. She might just be late. We can catch her up when she shows," he decided, even as suspicion bloomed in a far corner of his mind. Clearing his throat, he pulled the report out from where it had gotten crumpled underneath his leg. "Yesterday, I was informed that someone left an envelope for me in Kaito's dressing room. Considering that there had been an attempt on my life the previous day and there was no sender specified on the envelope, I took the cautious route and had the forensics lab at the police station open and inspect its contents." He looked meaningfully at Suzuhara. "The envelope was stuffed with broken glass. The only reason the lab techs didn't get cut was because I specified that they were to wear thick gloves and be very, very careful when opening the envelope. If _I'd_ opened it barehanded…" He raised his eyebrows pointedly.

Kaito had gone still beside him. When Shinichi hazarded a look at him, he was staring at Shinichi with horror, his face drawn and pale.

"Shinichi," he whispered, looking terrified. One of his hands scrabbled around for a second before it latched onto Shinichi's. It was the tiniest bit clammy. "I'm s—"

"If you apologize for something you didn't do, I will honest to God slap you," announced Shinichi, but he let Kaito continue to hold his hand, because it felt nice and Kaito tended to inspire weakness in his control. He turned back to Suzuhara, who was politely pretending not to witness the scene in front of him. "Before, I asked you why I saw you coming out of Kaito's dressing room the same day the envelope was supposedly left. You gave me a non-answer. I want a real one now. Otherwise the only conclusion I can come to is that you're the own who left an envelope full of broken glass addressed to me, and, by extension, the person who dropped the chandelier."

Suzuhara's face went white, though if that was from what Shinichi had said or from the way Kaito was looking at him as if he was praying for the ceiling to collapse on Suzuhara's head was unclear. Either way, he looked borderline ready to run out of the room.

"You tried to kill Shinichi?" Kaito hissed. His grip on Shinichi's hand was starting to cut off circulation to Shinichi's fingers. Shinichi sighed and considered the logistics of extricating himself from Kaito's grip. Losing a few digits seemed more likely. "Suzuhara, I swear to God, if that was you, I will—"

"Don't get the wrong idea!" Suzuhara burst, taking several rapid steps backward as if Kaito was a ravenous alligator and he was a raw chicken. He lifted his hands in an attempt at placation that Shinichi felt was most likely futile, seeing as Kaito looked ready launch the nearest pointy object at him. "I have no idea what the envelope thing was about, honestly! I promise that I don't have anything to do with that! I would never try to hurt Shinichi-kun."

"Right," snapped Kaito, intensely unconvinced. "You know, Suzuhara, I'll admit that I'm not your biggest fan, but I always thought you were a decent enough human not to do something _that_ _shitty_ —"

Shinichi silenced Kaito by placing his free hand on Kaito's knee. Kaito was so surprised he almost bit his tongue off when his jaw clamped shut with an audible click. He swung around to gawp at Shinichi. Shinichi raised an eyebrow at him and pointedly flexed the hand Kaito was still holding, letting out a sigh of relief when Kaito, eyes guilty and cowed, loosened his grasp and thankfully stopped using Shinichi's hand as his personal stress ball. Rubbing at his palm, Shinichi turned to meet Suzuhara's eyes.

"No, I know it wasn't you, Suzuhara-san," he told Suzuhara, who looked immensely relieved. Kaito frowned, deflating.

"It… wasn't him?" he asked hesitantly, and Shinichi gave his knee a last squeeze before he pulled his hand back and refocused on Suzuhara.

"Nope, I know it wasn't Suzuhara-san," he confirmed. "But I still need to know what you _were_ doing. Because there are just a few things I need cleared up before I can say that everything's been solved."

Suzuhara peered at him for a long moment, worrying at his bottom lip between his front teeth. His expression was conflicted, but his defense seemed to be weakening.

"I didn't kill Hamasaki-chan," he said, apropos of nothing. The way his face tightened gave Shinichi the impression he was trying to convince himself rather than Shinichi. Shinichi nodded in understanding.

"That's right," he agreed, gentle. "It wasn't you."

Kaito was looking between them. Shinichi could tell he was starting to get frustrated, understandably.

"It would be nice if someone stopped talking in riddles right about now," he remarked without bothering to hide the passive-aggressiveness in his voice, giving Suzuhara a narrow-eyed glare. Shinichi nodded in agreement.

"I need you to confirm why you went into Kaito's dressing room while everyone was out." When Suzuhara still looked tentative, Shinichi added, "Anything you say will be kept in confidence. Kaito won't say a word." He buried an elbow in Kaito's liver as extra insurance. Kaito grunted and sagged to one side.

"If you're sure he won't say anything..." At Shinichi's nod, Suzuhara's tongue darted out to wet his lips. He took a deep breath "The truth is that I've been in love with Himari-san for over a year."

There was a moment of silence.

"Well now I feel stupid about being jealous," said Kaito, and sunk lower in his seat. Shinichi patted him on the head before he turned back to Suzuhara.

"If I'm not wrong, Suzuhara-san, Watanabe-san used to be your hair and makeup artist before she was reassigned to Kaito a few months ago, wasn't she?" When Suzuhara nodded, surprised, Shinichi sat back against the couch, nodding to himself. "Watching your interactions, it became pretty clear that the two of you are too close not to have a past. Watanabe-san also hinted at knowing Hamasaki-san, which meant that she used to work in close proximity to you. And the timing of you and Kaito suddenly having a rivalry makes sense." Kaito, who had been on the verge of falling off the sofa, sat up with a start.

"Wait, was that what the whole thing was about?" He laughed incredulously. Shinichi considered elbowing him again. "You were jealous because you thought I stole your girl?"

Suzuhara blushed neon.

"Himari-san has always been a pretty big fan of yours! She was so excited about getting to work with you," he insisted, flailing around in a manner that contradicted his many appearances on Sexiest Men Alive lists. "And you're such a goddamn flirt, anyway, Kuroba-san! You seduce people without meaning it! You're in the wrong here too!" Kaito goggled.

"For doing— _what_? When have I ever seduced anyone without meaning it?" Improbably, Suzuhara turned even redder. Kaito looked conflicted between hysterical amusement and abject horror. He had started clinging to Shinichi's hand again. Shinichi could practically feel his own ulna crying from the force of Kaito's hold. "You're kidding me. When did I seduce _you_?"

"When we first met, the first time we met to film Heartline," answered Suzuhara in a small voice before he threw his hands in the air. "That's not the point, though! The point was that I knew Himari-san would inevitably fall for you!"

"You know, it's actually kind of flattering, that you have so much faith in me," Kaito commented after a second of thought. He actually did seem kind of flattered when Shinichi glanced over at him, shrugging when Shinichi made a face. "But no, Himaricchi and I are just friends." Suzuhara jabbed a finger at him, red down his neck.

"How was I supposed to know any better when you have cutesy nicknames for each other?"

"Setting that aside for now," Shinichi interjected when Kaito looked ready to retaliate, "let's return to the original point. I have an idea of why you were in Kaito's dressing room, but I want to hear it from you." Suzuhara nodded and swallowed. He dragged a hand down the length of his face.

"I left a note and a box of chocolate for Himari-san," he began, "telling her to meet me the next morning at the studio. I was going to take her out for breakfast and maybe confess my feelings if she seemed like she'd take it well. I think I put the note and the box somewhere on the counter, but I don't exactly remember where. I ran into you, Shinichi-kun, on my way out. I probably seemed flustered, because I'd been debating whether I should leave the note or not for a week. I didn't want to just tell you what I'd been doing because I didn't want anyone else knowing it was me." He exhaled shakily. "And then…"

"And then?" Shinichi prompted softly when he seemed disinclined to continue.

"I thought about whether she'd found the note even after I left the station," Suzuhara said miserably. He looked like he was on the verge of tears. "She hadn't said anything at lunch, and she didn't message me later, so I thought she hadn't found it yet. Or if she had, she was just being polite and turning me down gently. I was thinking about it so much that when I was drinking with Yamada-san—my agent, I mean—I finally got it in my head that I should call Hamasaki-chan and make her go retrieve the note. So I did—I called her and I told her that I'd left something important in Kuroba-san's dressing room. She was still at the studio at that time, setting out everything I'd need for the next day, so she said it wouldn't be a problem and she went to do it." Suzuhara's breathing was coming faster. "Did I—did I send her to—to die?"

Shinichi couldn't answer that. He stayed silent.

"Wait, so… what are you saying?" Kaito was scowling hard at the ground. "The killer was waiting in my dressing room for Hamasaki-san…?"

"No," Shinichi said. "Think about Hamasaki-san in comparison to the other two victims. Hamasaki-san had nothing in common with them, other than being a young woman. She had no connection to you, Kaito, her body was not moved after she was killed, and she was not found at a place connected to your past. Which means that Hamasaki-san wasn't the killer's intended victim. She was killed because she saw something she shouldn't have."

"What… do you mean?" Kaito's eyes were wide. His hand was tight around Shinichi's.

"This whole time, we've been trying to decide if the killer and the person who's been trying to hurt me are the same person. If we say that they are, in fact, the same person, it stands to reason that there's only one thing Hamasaki-san could've accidentally walked in that night. Something to do with that envelope of broken glass." Shinichi leaned forward. "Forensics originally found some dust and pieces of glass by the counter that seemed unrelated to the case, but it's highly probable that someone was putting that envelope together in Kaito's dressing room, and Hamasaki-san interrupted them, so they killed her to eliminate the chance of Hamasaki-san connecting the envelope—and by extension the murder attempts on my life—with them."

"But didn't you say that the killer could be an outsider?" Kaito asked. He looked slightly seasick, as if he were coming to his own conclusions. "If they were, there wouldn't _really_ be enough risk to warrant killing her, would there? Because as long as they stayed away from Hamasaki-san when the truth about the envelope came out, she wouldn't be able to identify them and they'd be fairly safe."

"I said that, but what you just said and where the murder took place mean that the possibility of the murderer being an outsider is unlikely," Shinichi replied. Kaito and Suzuhara exchanged commiserating looks, and Shinichi clarified, "The killer had to leave the envelope in Kaito's dressing room in order for me to find it, or so the plan went. If they were someone completely unconnected to Kaito and the station, they wouldn't have known where Kaito's dressing room is without asking someone for help, since unlike some of the other stars, his dressing room is unlabeled. And even in the unlikely event that they did know where Kaito's room was, this TV station is arranged so confusingly that they would've gotten lost or again needed to ask for directions, which someone would've remembered and probably reported when the murder was announced. No, it's far more likely that the person was someone who frequents the station and whom Hamasaki-san would instantly recognize."

"So Hamasaki-chan knew the person… well?" ventured Suzuhara, the color rapidly draining from his face. "Do you mean…?"

"Well," Shinichi began, but then he looked down at his watch. It was nearly ten fifteen. A sudden wave of gut-wrenching panic washed over him. It couldn't be—

"Okay, change of plans," he said, bolting to his seat. "Kaito, from what time to what time were you supposed to be on the show?"

"Ten thirty to eleven," Kaito told him, blinking quickly as he clambered to his feet and hurried after Shinichi. "Wait, Shinichi, what's going on?" Shinichi, halfway to the door, barely stopped to look at him.

"We need to catch the killer before someone else dies."

* * *

The TV volume was on too high, high enough that the neighbors might start complaining in another hour. It didn't matter, though. By then, it would be too late anyway. On screen, the talk show was just beginning, the two hosts—a bottle-blonde woman and a dark-haired man with a pretty face—were working references to their surprise guest into their opening banter. The clock face over the kitchen sink said that it was only five minutes to ten thirty. Not long now.

Other than the sounds coming from the TV, there was silence. The room was dark, curtains pulled shut against the sunlight. On the walls, pictures of various unmatched objects stared blankly out over the scene. Everything was still and quiet. No interruptions. Good.

Onscreen, the hosts were about to reveal their guest. Almost time, then. The motionless body sprawled out across the ground, one arm draped over the edge of the area rug. It was a shame that there wouldn't be enough time to do the usual with the body. That goddamn inspector was suspicious enough after the last girl. That had been a little messier than necessary, but it seemed to have turned out all right. And nobody would figure this one out.

"And now, we'd like to invite our special guest to the stage! Everyone, give it up for—"

It was time. The knife was ready, the alibi was confirmed, and it was time—or so she thought until the front door banged open, shattering the stillness.

"Miho! Stop!" shouted Kaito, because that was Kaito, _Kaito_ tripping over the genkan towards her, Kaito looking at her with unadulterated distress and nausea and disgust as he came to a stop a few feet away from her. "Miho, what the hell are you doing?"

Miho froze where she was holding the knife to Himari's throat.

Shinichi, who was right behind Kaito—of _course_ he was the one behind this, the goddamn life-ruining bastard—pushed past where Kaito was frozen and came to stand right beside her, his gun pointed at her head. There wasn't any doubt in her that he would hesitate to shoot her, if it came down to it. That was the kind of big damn hero he pretended to be.

"Let go of Watanabe-san," he commanded. Miho, numb, did just that, shoving Himari out of her lap and sitting back on her bare feet. Shinichi put himself between the two of them, gun never wavering. He frowned, taking in the scene before him, and then he squeezed his eyes shut, exhaled, and pushed his hair out of his face.

"Motoyama Miho," he began in a resigned, firm voice, holstering his gun. Miho was almost angry about that, that he would think she wouldn't attack him, but she knew she wouldn't. Not with Kaito standing there watching the whole thing with confused revulsion all over his face. "You are under arrest for the murders of Sawada Yumi, Nishimura Mayuko, and Hamasaki Chiyo, along with the attempted murder of Watanabe Himari."

"How," Miho whispered. Her hands were shaking, growing more and more unsteady the longer Kaito looked at her with those horrified, accusing eyes. She couldn't bear to look at him, not when he so clearly hated her now. This wasn't how she wanted things to go. This wasn't what she'd planned. Her voice was raspy when she demanded, "How did you know?"

Shinichi ignored her in favor of kneeling and pulling Himari towards him to check on her. A perfunctory check showed that she had been knocked unconscious, possibly with some kind of sedative.

"Watanabe-san will be fine, Kaito. She's just passed out," he informed Kaito before he laid her back down on the ground. Kaito nodded shakily without looking away from Miho. Wiping a hand across his face, Shinichi finally deigned to look over at her with clear, tired eyes. A surge of hatred spilled through her, burning like a shot of alcohol.

"How did I know you were the killer?" A wry smile curled Shinichi's mouth upwards. "I've suspected you since the day I met you. And I've known"—he paused to pull a sheaf of crinkled papers out of the inside of his jacket—"since I got the lab results testing my handkerchief back."

"What are you talking about?" stammered Kaito faintly. He couldn't seem to bring himself to look away from Miho, Miho and her bowed head and trembling hands still locked tight around her weapon. "What—what about your handkerchief? What's going on?" His voice went hollow and high near the last few syllables.

Shinichi looked at Miho with an expression that asked for permission, as if he would wait for her to give it before he told Kaito everything. She bit down on the inside of her cheek and looked away, glowering down at Himari's unconscious face, rather than responding. Shinichi, watching her, huffed out a long breath and turned back to Kaito.

"The truth is that Motoyama-san has been madly in love with you since she first met you," he said evenly. Miho twitched at his phrasing. Even without looking at her, Shinichi could tell that she wanted nothing more than to bury her knife in his jugular. "I don't know if you've noticed, but she's kept every single rose you've ever given her." He nodded at her bag, which sat curled by her ankle. "They're pressed in a book that she carries with her all the time. You remember when I spilled coffee on her purse? The first thing she checked was the book full of the flowers you've given her, not her phone or her schedule, which, objectively, are much more important."

"Miho," Kaito managed around a dry throat. Miho didn't move, though she did twitch violently.

"She figured out that you communicate your feelings with the roses you give, and she studied the color meanings of roses so she could find out what you feel for her. Most, if not all, of the roses she has are yellow, for friendship. When she saw you had given me a lavender rose, that first day we all met, she immediately despised me. Because she knew that lavender roses mean 'love at first sight.'" Shinichi rubbed at the side of his face. "And because of that, she tried to kill me not ten minutes later." Kaito started. He had been staring unseeingly at Miho, but that brought him out of his trance.

"What?" he asked. "How—wouldn't Himaricchi and I have noticed if she tried to kill you?"

"She brought in coffee and tea for all of us, remember?" When Kaito nodded, his gaze flickering between Miho and Shinichi, Shinichi gave a little shrug. "She brought coffee for both you and Watanabe-san, but tea for me, which struck me as strange. In actuality, that was so she could be sure which drink was poisoned and make sure it got to me."

"But the drinks were all in mugs," Kaito pointed out. "She could've just remembered the pattern of the mug that the poisoned coffee was in."

"Motoyama-san didn't want to risk making a mistake," Shinichi answered. "If she accidentally poisoned _you_ , for example, she would've hated herself forever. She wanted every assurance that she would get the right cups to the right people, hence why she gave me the tea in a particularly distinctive mug that could never be confused with the others." Kaito's face was going paler and paler.

Shinichi continued relentlessly.

"She wasn't expecting you to offer me your coffee in exchange for my tea, which is why she knocked the mug off the counter. Motoyama-san is not clumsy enough for that to have been an accident. I helped clean up the tea with my handkerchief and forgot it in my suit pocket. I had that handkerchief analyzed yesterday. It tested positive for poison." He directed his gaze to Miho. "I don't know how you were expecting to get away with it or why you were carrying poison in the first place—perhaps you used it in small doses to immobilize your victims before you slit their throats?—but it's fairly compelling proof that you were trying to kill me out of jealousy."

Miho's whole face compressed as she finally managed to look into Shinichi's face. Her lips pulled away from her teeth. Nothing of her usual put-together, no-nonsense persona was left, just a bitterness that twisted her into something angry and violent.

"Serving different drinks in different mugs should've hardly tipped you off," she sneered. "Unless you're a paranoid freak, there's no reason why that alone should've made you suspect me."

Shinichi regarded her with a calmness that made her teeth creak from how tightly she was clenching her jaw.

"The other reason why I suspected you immediately, Motoyama-san, is because you were the one who brought me the case files that had been left behind. Hakuba would've likely stayed in Kaito's dressing room, same as I had, so if he left the files anywhere, they would've been there. The fact that you had to bring them to me suggested that you had moved them or maybe even stolen them to see how the investigation had been progressing."

Miho's glare intensified. She wished he was wrong.

"My next clue was when the chandelier fell," added Shinichi. "Analysis showed that the chandelier had been tampered with, and we assumed that had been done beforehand and the killer had not been present at the time the chandelier fell. But when I thought about it, the sequence of events was as follows: the strings holding me up snapped, and then the chandelier fell. The falling chandelier had no relation to the string mechanism, so why did they break in the first place? The answer is that the killer was in the catwalk, with the intention of watching the whole show and making sure that the chandelier fell at the right moment.

"You knew that Kaito, interested in me as he was, would be sure to make me participate in a trick. That wouldn't be out of character for him at all. You knew there would most likely be a point where I would be somewhat centered beneath the chandelier, but you couldn't be sure when that would happen. You stuck around to make sure that the chandelier didn't miss its target or hit the wrong person." Shinichi tilted his head toward Kaito. "Again, you wouldn't have been able to live with yourself if you hurt Kaito.

"But when you realized that the trick I was involved in was the levitation trick, with lines that were strung right past the chandelier chain, you couldn't resist the urge to make me fall on my face." He raised his eyebrows at her, matter-of-fact, and Miho had never wanted to kill someone more. "It's a pity, really, because if you hadn't cut the lines holding me, I wouldn't have been able to escape. I would've definitely been trapped beneath that chandelier. And we would've all gone on thinking that the killer hadn't been at the theater at the time of the incident. Out of the circle of people of people most likely to be the killer—Suzuhara, Watanabe-san, and you—you were the only one who didn't have an alibi at the time of the chandelier incident."

Shinichi paused, looking at her squarely. Miho was still glowering at him as if she were imagining him being squeezed through a meat grinder. Her chest was rising and falling jerkily as she breathed. Her fingers were cramping where she was still gripping the knife.

"After your attempt failed—and hurt Kaito more than me, to be honest—you were so outraged that you decided to go back to the TV station and fill an envelope with bits of glass to leave for me to find. I don't know what you broke and how you crushed it, but you were in the process of making that envelope when Hamasaki-san came in to retrieve Suzuhara-san's note. She saw you and instantly recognized you as Kaito's manager. You killed her to make sure nothing would get back to Kaito or me and kept the envelope, realizing that leaving it at the scene of the crime would guarantee that it was taken as evidence instead of making it into my hands. That's why you hand-delivered it to me, pretending that you had found it far earlier than possible and, incidentally, throwing suspicion on Suzuhara-san.

"I was certain the killer was you the second I saw that you weren't wearing your usual heels that day Hamasaki-san was discovered." Shinichi nodded at the shoe that Miho was holding. In the dim light from the TV, the heel, a thin, uncapped stiletto knife, gleamed dangerously. Miho cradled it to her chest, as if trying to obscure its deadly point. "I knew the weapon had to be something that was kept close at hand without causing suspicion, since Hamasaki-san's murder wasn't planned. You didn't wear them the day after the murder scene on the off chance that I did a body search. Your shoes always struck me as impractical for someone who does a lot of running from location to location, although perhaps that was just an opinion on my part. When I realized that Watanabe-san was gone, I knew that you must've taken her somewhere else, expecting that Kaito would get his alibi from the talk show that's airing right now." Shinichi nodded at the TV, which was still blaring the interview. "And I knew that the only location with ties to Kaito left that I hadn't already saturated with police officers was Kaito's apartment."

He straightened and cocked his head at Miho, challenging.

"Was any of that wrong?"

Miho remained silent, her hands clenching into fists so tight her nails cut into her palms. The only sound was the TV and her heavy, labored breathing. Kaito, who was still standing behind Shinichi, cleared his throat and sucked in a shuddering breath. He had been frozen ever since Shinichi had started talking, but now he managed to speak.

"Miho," he said, shaking. Miho's whole body jerked as if she'd been struck. "Why—why would you _do_ this, Miho? Especially if you love me?" He swallowed wetly. Those other girls, especially Hamasaki-san—they did nothing wrong." A single glance confirmed that he was on the verge of tears, his eyes glistening and his whole body racked with fine tremors. "And _Himaricchi_? You're friends with her, aren't you? If you really—if you were really in love with me, then I can't see how you could've even have done anything like this—"

"I did it because they betrayed you!" Miho's voice was nothing like how Shinichi had heard it before. It was cracked and fragile and razor-sharp, clinging to the edge of sanity. When she looked imploringly up at Kaito, there was a manic, hysterical light to her eyes. "That Sawada girl—she closed down her forum, you know! She _gave up_ on you! Someone who'd said she was a true fan!"

"Miho," Kaito whispered, but Miho ignored him.

"And that Nishimura woman?" She let out a scoffing laugh, a brash, hard sound wielded like a blunt weapon. "Anyone who respects you wouldn't _throw_ themselves at you! She acted like you were a piece of meat! Someone who ran a fanclub, thinking that rubbing herself all over you was the way a fan should act!" She rolled her eyes, waving the knife dismissively. "Hamasaki, sure, whatever, that was unfortunate. Too bad about her." Her eyes went vaguely starry. "Then again, if she wasn't even a fan of yours, _something_ was clearly wrong with her."

The look on Kaito's face would stay with Shinichi until the day he died. It was haunting, the sight of tears rolling down his cheeks, the visceral, sharp disbelief in his eyes. Shinichi was struck with the thought that if anyone had betrayed him, it was Miho.

"And Himaricchi?" he asked. The syllables wobbled unsteadily on the way out of his mouth. "Why would you try to kill Himaricchi? You were _friends_ with her, weren't you?" Miho gave him a bewildered look, as if she couldn't understand why he didn't get it.

"Don't you see?" she demanded in a voice like broken needles. "Watanabe wasn't faithful to you. She _never_ was. She was always after Suzuhara, that little bitch. This whole time, she was in love with Suzuhara while pretending that she was your fan. And you don't think that's a betrayal? You hate Suzuhara, don't you? If she cared about you, she wouldn't have been chasing after _Suzuhara_!"

Kaito stared at her. A tear caught in the corner of his mouth until another knocked it free.

"And Shinichi?" he whispered. "Why would you try to hurt _Shinichi_?"

Miho recoiled as if he'd planted a knife in her chest. She looked at him blankly.

"I've been with you for four years, Kuroba-san," she said, and she almost looked like the Miho Shinichi recognized, the one with the stern, beautiful face and unfaltering elegance. "You've never fallen in love. I've been waiting for _so long_ "—her voice shook like resonating glass on the brink of shattering—"for you to love me back. I was doing my best, being a good friend and a good manager and trying so hard someone worthy of your affections. I would've waited _forever_." Her face twisted into something dark and bitter. "Then this _stupid_ inspector with nothing but a pretty face and a few more brain cells than the rest of us shows up, and you're head over heels for him in half a second. You're asking him to call you by your first name and _looking_ at him like he hung the goddamn stars and the moon and you're giving him roses that mean you _love him_ and you _want him_ and he's _beautiful_?" Miho laughed, a sound so edged it hurt Shinichi's ears. "Why _wouldn't_ I want to hurt _Shinichi_?"

Something in Kaito's face hardened as he took a step back, then another.

"You know," he began, almost eerily calm, "if you loved me, if you _understood_ me the way Shinichi does, you would've known that murdering three people and trying to kill two more isn't the way to win my heart. It's how you lose it. You didn't think about how I'm going to have to live knowing that because of me, three people are dead. You didn't even understand that much." He shook his head, chin lifted as he looked down on her. Even with tear tracks striping his cheeks, even in patched-up jeans, even with his face blotching and stitches in his forehead and his hands quaking, he looked more regal than anything else Shinichi had ever seen. "You've known me for four years, Miho, and you couldn't even understand what Shinichi did the moment he met me."

The expression on Miho's face crumbled like wet sand, and she loosened her grip on the knife, and she bowed her head and didn't move until the police officers Shinichi had stationed outside Kaito's apartment came in to take her away.

* * *

"I think I have trust issues now," Kaito mumbled. Shinichi had taken him back to the station with him, and now he was huddled in Shinichi's visitor's chair, hands wrapped around a cup of the jet fuel they pretended was coffee around the station. Shinichi, sitting across from him with his own mug of battery acid and a stack of reports to fill out, sighed.

"Understandable," he agreed, scrawling his name in the _INVESTIGATING OFFICER_ section on the top form.

"I was so sure it wasn't any of them. Hell, I thought if it were anyone, it'd be, like Tachibana or something, trying to ruin my reputation before I left the agency. Now that I know it was Miho…" Kaito shuddered and downed half the coffee in the cup before he set it on the edge of Shinichi's desk and dragged his knees up to his chest. "I can't believe it. She was always so… normal. Hypercompetent, if anything. I had no idea that she felt anything for me. She…ugh."

Shinichi eyed him, tapping the pen against the paper. He was in the process of deciding whether he should go find a shock blanket for Kaito when Kaito swallowed and rested his face against his bent knees.

"God, I'm going to have to find another manager who won't even be half as good as my serial killer one," he said mournfully. "Nobody else will know exactly when I need my suits dry cleaned and what I want for breakfast. Or exactly how I take my coffee. Everyone always puts too little sugar in. Miho got the perfect ratio every time."

"I feel like that's not the most pressing issue," Shinichi was compelled to point out. Kaito flapped a hand at him.

"Let me grieve in my own way," he muttered, and rubbed at the back of his head until his hair stood on end. "Oh God, I don't want to make a press statement about it. When is it going to hit mainstream media, you think? 'Kuroba Kaito's manager is actually a raging, mass-murdering lunatic.' When am I going to have to field questions about that?"

"The news about Motoyama-san's arrest will probably go live within the next twenty four hours," Shinichi admitted. Kaito groaned and bonked his head against his knee, sulking.

"How many calls do you think I'm going to get now?" He groaned. "It's going to be insufferable. 'Hey, so, can we get a statement on how you're dealing with your manager? You know, the one who killed three people and dropped a chandelier on your head?' It'll never blow over. Every interview I do for the next ten years will have questions about how I didn't realize my manager was a complete psychopath even after four years of friendship." With a complicated sound, Kaito dug his phone out of his pocket. "Let's see, has it hit the web yet? I wouldn't put it past those bloggers…" He fiddled with his phone in relative silence for a few more minutes, during which Shinichi filled out the first part of the report.

"Oh, huh," Kaito said after a moment. Shinichi glanced up to see him staring at his phone with an unreadable look.

"Is it already headlining?" Shinichi asked, and Kaito shook his head.

"Uh, I think they're starting to spring up, but that's not what I was looking at." He swallowed. "I just—I ran across this picture." With a hesitant smile, he slid his phone across the table to show Shinichi.

At first, Shinichi wasn't sure what he was looking at. It seemed to be a fairly typical photo of two people standing in a field with an oversaturated blue sky overhead. Then he glanced at the date—it was from two days ago—and who posted it—HIMAwaRI005, apparently—and realized that this was the photo Himari had taken of them the day Kaito had shot the ad for the car insurance. In the picture, Kaito was offering Shinichi a rose, the light pink one, his expression so fond it almost hurt to look at.

What struck Shinichi, though was his own face looked like. Ran had said that she known that he was in love by looking at this photo and seeing his expression. At the time, Shinichi had doubted it, but now that he was looking at it, he couldn't deny that she was right. He'd never seen himself look so _happy_. He wasn't even smiling, just looking at Kaito with a put-upon scowl, but somehow—somehow he could tell that at that moment, he'd been the happiest he'd felt in a long time.

The thought made Shinichi still. Taking a deep breath, he set down his pen and cleared his throat.

"This whole thing made me… think about some things," he mumbled, eyes so focused on the paperwork in front of him that his vision blurred. In his periphery, Kaito lifted his face to blink at him with curiosity. "You were friends with Motoyama-san for a long time, but you never actually, well, _knew_ her. And she never got that you wouldn't want her to do what she did. Maybe—maybe it's possible to meet someone and understand them, even without spending so much time with her. Maybe there's some kind of… I don't know, instinctual knowing."

When he met Kaito's eyes, Kaito was frowning slightly, as if he didn't know what Shinichi was getting at.

"You're probably right," he agreed, one eyebrow creeping up his forehead, "but…?"

Shinichi coughed and wrapped a hand around the back of his neck. He could feel himself flushing all the way up to the tips of his ears.

"Before, you know, I thought that, uh, getting together would be moving too fast, because we haven't known each other for that long. But then I was thinking about it earlier, and… I don't know." He made a frustrated noise. "I feel like I know you, somehow, and more time might not change that. I think… I think we might work well together, even if we are different." Shinichi took a deep breath. Kaito was starting to grin. "So I've decided that we should give things a try, even if I don't know your birthday or your favorite color or your star sign."

"Google it. I'm sure you'll find all of that on one of my fanpages," Kaito suggested, and Shinichi went to glare at him, but he had to stop at the sight of Kaito smiling. It was the old, familiar smile, the smile that made Shinichi feel as if he were something actually worth that much affection. Kaito dropped his knees, straightening so he could lean forward over Shinichi's desk. "Let's not forget that there _are_ things we know about each other."

"Oh, really?" Shinichi gave him a look. Kaito grinned.

"For example, I know how old you are and what your blood type is and that your favorite TV show is Detective Samonji and what you look like when you're embarrassed. And you _do_ know how I take my coffee and where I live and what my hair looks like in the morning and how to handle me when I'm falling apart and that you're wrong and _Spirited Away_ is the most iconic Ghibli movie."

Shinichi scowled.

"I keep telling you—" he began, but the way Kaito's smirk faded shut him up.

"And you know that I'm in love with you," Kaito finished, softly. Shinichi warred with his instincts, which were telling him to either fling himself at Kaito or find a nice rock to hide under. In the end, he didn't get the chance to do either, because Kaito got up and skirted around to desk to box Shinichi in against the back of his chair. He pressed his forehead to Shinichi's, expression turning serious.

"Hit me if I'm going too far too fast," he murmured. He was so close that Shinichi could count his eyelashes as his eyelids lowered. His gaze flicked down to Shinichi's mouth. The skin on his arms was warm and soft where it brushed against Shinichi's cheeks. He hesitated for long enough that Shinichi clamped his hands around the arms of his chair, swallowed, and surged forward, catching Kaito by surprise as he pressed their mouths together.

It was a chaste kiss, closemouthed and cautious. Kaito was gentle when he cupped Shinichi's face in his hands, holding him in place as he sucked lightly at Shinichi's bottom lip. Shinichi held back a truly embarrassing sound and stopped white-knuckling the chair in favor of stumbling to his feet and pulling Kaito against him until they were chest-to-chest. Kaito gasped at the back of his throat, a sound that made Shinichi lightheaded, and he pried Kaito's mouth open in hopes of hearing it again.

Needless to say, the kiss did not stay chaste for much longer.

Kaito's hands had progressed to his hair, his tongue to Shinichi's mouth, his leg to the space between Shinichi's, and Shinichi, for his part, had untucked Kaito's shirt and was digging his fingertips into the smooth muscles of Kaito's back, fighting to contain the tiny moans that kept bubbling up every time Kaito tugged at his hair or ground his knee upwards, and everything was progressing in a very linear fashion towards a mutually agreeable destination when the door to Shinichi's office flew open and Hakuba's scream of terror descended upon them like so many gallons of ice-cold water.

"You could _knock_ , God!" Kaito hissed, detaching his mouth from Shinichi's with an audible sound that made Shinichi flush bright red as he hurriedly tried to tuck Kaito's shirt back in and not look as if he'd been about to have office sex (with varied results).

"And _you_ could've locked the door! Oh my _God_ I did not need to see any of this," Hakuba was saying when Shinichi flailed and nearly knocked over his desk lamp. He had his hands pressed to his face. "I mean, I knew this was coming, but did you have to do it _here_? At a _police station_? And right after his murderous manager got arrested? How is that a turn on?"

"Uh," Shinichi said, and traded a look with Kaito. It was kind of hard to argue with that.

Hakuba shook his head, muttering under his breath about some people didn't have any professionalism and rubbing at his eyes. When he dropped his hands, his face was flushed red, but the look he gave both of them meant that pointing that out would result in their immediate demises.

"I was just here to tell you that Superintendent Matsumoto wanted to congratulate you on solving the case, Kudou-kun." He paused, mouth twisting as if he wasn't certain how to continue. "He also wanted you to bring Kuroba-kun. He was very—excited when I told him that you were also at the station. I think he has a figurine for you to sign?"

"Oh, the one I released for the new season of Heartline?" Kaito looked surprise. "It's limited edition. I think only fifty were made." His face turned speculative before he glanced over at Shinichi, who was in the process of fixing his hair so it looked less I Just Made Out with a World-Famous Actor During Work Hours (a goal which seemed to move farther and farther away the longer he tried to achieve it). "Is this the same guy whose poster you had me sign?"

Shinichi nodded, then got distracted by the flush still sitting above Kaito's cheekbones. Hakuba coughed meaningfully.

"Well, I'll leave you two to fix yourselves up," he announced, backing towards the door. "Congrats on solving the case and not giving in to the urge to kill Kuroba-kun, Kudou-kun, which may actually be the bigger accomplishment. I don't know how you did it." Ignoring Kaito's squawk of outrage, he gave them a last condescending smile. "And congrats on getting together." He closed the door without so much as a click.

Kaito and Shinichi stared after him.

"You know, maybe he's not actually the spawn of Satan. He might just be a lower-ranking demon," Kaito said after a moment, sounding considering, and Shinichi laughed and reached up to straighten Kaito's skewed collar. It was only about seventy percent an excuse to touch him.

"Keep talking like that and you might have to admit he's your friend," he remarked, patting Kaito on the chest, and Kaito made a face like he'd bitten into a lemon expecting it to be an orange.

"You know, Shinichi, I love you, but you're wrong about a lot of things a lot of the time." He was smiling when he said it, though, senselessly content, and reached up to brush Shinichi's bangs out of his face. His fingers lingered along Shinichi's temple. Shinichi caught his hand, holding on even after Kaito let it fall back to his side.

"Whatever you say," he said before he grinned, stupidly and illogically. "Ready to go, Mr. Famous Actor?"

Kaito laughed and lifted Shinichi's hand, brushing a kiss like a promise across his knuckles.

"Always, Inspector."

* * *

 **And that's the end! Hopefully there weren't too many plot holes (if you see any... suspension of disbelief?). If people are interested, I'd love to come back to this AU for another case (and more development of the relationship, obviously).**

 **Updates will probably start being a lot less frequent, as I've a) been struck with writer's block and b) gotten much busier with real life, but I'll still try to post! See you soon! - Luna**


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